


The End of the Beginning

by BecausePlot



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: (author is not a lyricist), (but also unrealistic), (but poorly written), (but unrealistic), Action/Adventure, Adventure, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Arguing, Found Family, Gen, Happy Ending, Horseback Riding, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Mild Language, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Realistic Minecraft, Sailing, Secrets, Sign Language, Slow Burn, Songs, The Duo, The End, The Nether (Minecraft), Touch-Starved, Trust Issues, author has no idea how redstone works, dream team, enchantment table language (Galactic), implied/referenced PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 133,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecausePlot/pseuds/BecausePlot
Summary: Six months ago, endermen - known for their kind, shy nature - suddenly became aggressive, hunting in droves and destroying entire villages in a single night. All signs point to the stories told by The Legends of Old, which describe a time when the Ender Dragon, an ancient evil, took control of the endermen to wreak havoc on the Overworld. George, along with his friends Sapnap, Bad, Skeppy, and Fundy, seek to slay the Dragon and end the Aggression once and for all.But just days before they're about to set out, George runs into a mysterious masked stranger down in the mines, and their plans to slay the Dragon are suddenly not as simple as they seem.[Updates every other Friday!]
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Floris | Fundy & Dream, Floris | Fundy & Sapnap, GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Zak Ahmed & Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap & Floris | Fundy, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 362
Kudos: 1100





	1. Stranger in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Before this starts, I just want to get a few things out of the way. First, this is all in good fun, and there is no shipping in this fic. Please be respectful to each other and the creators. Second, this is the first time I've ever worked up the courage to post a fic, so I'm very nervous, but constructive criticism is always welcome! Third, a big thank you to my good friend Jem, who is acting as my beta. Without her encouragement, I don't think this fic would have ever made it onto Ao3. Love ya, buddy! <3
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

George had been on mining expeditions before - several times, in fact. He was familiar with the cave systems just outside of Northwick Village, and his time spent hunting in the woods and competing in woodland archery tournaments meant he had a good sense of direction. Getting lost was not an issue. No, it was just that he usually went on these expeditions with Sapnap. Just the two of them. No one else.

So maybe the reason for this particular trip down into the mines feeling longer than usual was not, in fact, because George had taken a wrong turn. Rather, maybe it was that Sapnap was  _ not _ present, and Bad and Skeppy  _ were _ .

“Oh my Godddd, how much furtherrrr?”

Emphasis on Skeppy.

“We’re not far,” George answered. Being sure to keep his torch high enough to continue casting light on their surroundings, George brought his left hand up to look at the Screen strapped to his forearm. “We’re about seventy meters out - and  _ why _ am I telling you this? I literally gave you the coords before we left. Check the stats yourself.”

“Ugh, fine,” groaned Skeppy. Though George couldn’t see him, he could hear Skeppy prodding at his Screen. “You don’t have to be so mean about it.”

George rolled his eyes and bit back whatever stupid retort his mouth was about to spew.

“So, you and Sapnap came across this new cave a few days ago?” asked Bad, striding a few steps to walk beside George. Bad peered at him curiously through his dark red-lined hood.

George saw the obvious distraction from Skeppy’s moody self and decided to take it. 

“Yep. We didn’t actually head down there when we found it since we had everything we’d gone down for at the time and we needed to head to the surface for supplies. But, we took note of the coords and marked out the wall with an - ”

“X!” cheered Skeppy, rushing forward and shoving past George and Bad in favor of getting to the mark first.

“...an X,” George finished, glaring.

“Wait, seriously?” said Bad. He jogged up to the wall in question and ran a hand over the X that had been carved out a few days prior by Sapnap’s blunt pickaxe. “There’s really another cave behind this? How do you know?”

Skeppy rapped his knuckles on the stone, then pressed an ear to it. Somehow, his already excited expression managed to brighten even further. “I can hear skeletons rattling on the other side!”

“We think the cave has a dungeon somewhere inside of it,” explained George. “It can’t just be a dungeon, though. The wall is too thin. We’d be able to see the moss and cobble. So, cave.”

“Clever,” remarked Bad, also pressing an ear to the wall. “So, are we mining through this?”

“Oooooo, let me blow it up!” said Skeppy. He started to rummage through his satchel. “I know for a fact that I have some TNT sticks in here somewhere…”

George grimaced. “I’d rather not cause a cave-in.”

“It won’t cause a cave-in,” Bad assured him with a wave of his hand. “Skeppy and I have gone blast mining tons of times. We’ve only ever had one cave-in, and that was because we didn’t notice the gravel deposit handing over our heads. And, hey, look!” Bad gestured to the low-hanging ceiling. “No gravel! It’ll be fine, I promise.”

“‘Sides, there are monsters back there,” added Skeppy. He had already managed to dig out two sticks of TNT and a pouch of redstone dust. “If we blow up the wall, there’s a good chance we’ll blow up the monsters too.”

“You do realize that if I die, Sapnap will come down here and murder both of you,” said George.

Skeppy grinned manically. “I’d like to see him try.   


George, who knew full well that Sapnap could snap Skeppy like a twig, answered with a skeptical look and a hesitant, “Fine, blow it up.”

Skeppy made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a squeal. He set about securing the explosives to the wall with slime and hooking up the redstone wiring. Meanwhile, George and Bad hunkered down behind a corner and waited for Skeppy to work his magic.

As they sat there, George handed the torch over to Bad so he could tap at his Screen and send a message to Sapnap.

  
  


**_CHATROOM:_ ** _ Bros™ _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> skeppys setting up explosives to open the cave, im probably going to die _

_ <Sapnap> tragic _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> if i get blown up, avenge me _

_ <Sapnap> k _

  
  


George turned off his Screen with a sigh. So, he wasn’t getting any sympathy from Sapnap. Great. He was going to die down here with these two idiots. Well,  _ one _ idiot. Bad was bright enough (the brightest of all of them, though none of them would ever admit it). Skeppy, though? George wasn’t so sure.

“It’s all set!” Skeppy came trotting around the corner and settled himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Bad. He held up a dark redstone torch and grinned. “Ready? Cover your ears!” Without sparing a second to let either of them reply, Skeppy struck the small torch on the wall, activating the redstone coated on the tip. He then brought the activated tip down to the redstone wiring trailing out to the side. Immediately, the dust caught the current and sprung to life in a flash of red, racing down the corridor to where the explosives had been set up.

George had very little time to prepare himself. He tugged his crimson scarf over his nose and pulled his white forge goggles down from where they rested on his head to cover his eyes. Just as he was slamming his palms over his ears - 

**_B O O M !_ **

The explosion sent a billowing cloud of smoke and flames shooting out from around the corner, though its momentum kept it moving forward and straight down the hall rather than curling over to where they were situated. The worst George got was a lungful of smoke, mouth covering notwithstanding. He wheezed and coughed, waving a hand in front of his face in an attempt to clear the air.

The others were doing the same. As the dust settled, he turned to find that they’d taken similar measures to his own. Both had pulled some fabric over their nose and lowered their masks. The black-red complexion and little horns of Bad’s mask stared him down while Skeppy’s sky-blue facade stuck its little red tongue out at him. George had always found Skeppy’s mask to fit him perfectly, but Bad’s felt like a joke, much like his moniker.

Once everything had gone still, Skeppy abruptly got to his feet and started dusting himself off. “Welp, the wall’s gone. Let’s go!” And with no further preamble, he went off to go investigate the site of the explosion. 

“Better to get moving before the monsters do,” agreed Bad. He stood and offered a hand up to George, who gladly accepted it.

Skeppy took the torch from Bad and held it as Bad and George lit up their own. With Bad now leading the way, they stepped through the opening that had been blasted through the wall.

Just as suspected, the new branch of the cave was connected to a dungeon off to the right. They lowered their torches against the wall and set to work looting the place. Bad brandished his sword and shield to draw the skeletons’ fire while George and Skeppy hooked their pickaxes into the metal bars of the spawner. With the proper leverage and combined strength, they pried the spawner open, effectively destroying it. Twinkling lights of emerald and gold erupted from the breach. George was sure to catch as much of the wispy vapour and airy orbs as he could in the few empty bottles he had on hand. While George and the others wouldn’t really have much use for the experience orbs, Fundy certainly would. Bottling the magic was an awful lot more convenient than having to do a physical experience transfer, which always left George lightheaded.

With a grunt, Bad brought his sword around one last time and cut a battered skeleton in half. It crumpled to the floor in a pile of bones. Bad let out a contented sigh and sheathed his weapon, then picked up his torch and observed the room. “Anything good?” he asked Skeppy.

George redirected his attention from his “bottles ‘o enchanting” - as Fundy liked to call them - to find that Skeppy was already rummaging through one of the rusty chests lining the walls of the dungeon.

Skeppy made a dissatisfied sound. “No, not really. There’s a few small iron bars, some seeds…” He reached down farther into the box, then yelped and tugged his hand back. “Oh, ew ew ew, there’s something fuzzy down there!”

George stashed the bottles away and brought his torch over. “Moldy bread,” he observed, wrinkling his nose and pushing up his goggles. He took out his pick and scooted the spoiled food to the side. “Oh, wait a second…” He reached into the chest’s shadows to pull out a small pouch. “Hold this,” he told Skeppy as he passed over his torch. Once his hands were free, George tugged open the pouch.

Two bluish stones twinkled back at him. “Diamonds!”

Bad pushed his mask up. “Wait, seriously?” he said, hurrying to peer over George’s shoulder and into the pouch. He gave a small, surprised laugh. “Well, that was a whole lot easier than I thought it would be.”

“DIBS!” claimed Skeppy, snatching the pouch away from George.

“Oh, come on!” George objected. “I was the one who found them.”

“But I was the one who opened the chest in the first place, so I get first claim.”

“Calm down, you muffin heads!” Bad chastised, glaring at the both of them. “This expedition wasn’t for us, remember? We have to get the materials back to Sapnap so he can finish making our gear.” He held out a hand to Skeppy. “Let me hold onto them.”

Skeppy rolled his eyes and begrudgingly plopped the pouch into Bad’s awaiting grasp. “Fine. You’re no fun.”

Bad hardly seemed to bat an eyelash at Skeppy’s half-hearted insult, and he placed the pouch of precious stones into his satchel. They continued to loot the dungeon, Bad eventually finding yet another shining stone a few minutes later.

“Sapnap and I should’ve explored this place sooner,” George remarked as he and the others finally left the dungeon. “Would’ve saved us a trip down here.”

“Well, the important thing is that we got what we needed,” said Bad with an approving nod. “We should have enough diamonds for Sapnap to finish the plating.”

“So we’re heading up?”

“Yup. No need to stay down here for longer than we need to.”

George prodded at his Screen. “I mean we’ve walked all the way down to Y-10. Shouldn’t we look around - ?”

“MINESHAFT!”

Bad and George whirled around at the shout, but their third party member was nowhere to be seen.

“Skeppy?” Bad called out. “Where did you go?”

From somewhere further into the cave, rushed footsteps echoed. A second later, Skeppy appeared in an entrance to a thin corridor branching off from the main cave. He pushed up his mask, and George could see the childlike joy glittering in his eyes. “Over here!” he called back to them, and he ducked into the smaller corridor once more.

George looked over to Bad questioningly, who shrugged and hurried to follow Skeppy. George trailed after him.

True to Skeppy’s claim, the thin passage opened up into clear-cut corridors supported by rotting wooden beams. Rusted minecart rails ran the length of the hallways, stretching far beyond the reach of their torches’ light. Somewhere in the distance, George could see a dim glow - one of the few lit torches that were often said to be scattered around mineshafts. No one knew how those torches remained ablaze. The mystery was the source of many theories and ghost stories. Whatever the reason, George found it awfully convenient.

Skeppy turned to Bad, eyes wide. “ _ Please _ tell me we’re going to check this out.”

Bad’s mouth twisted up. “We really need to go to the surface to give the diamonds to Sapnap.”

Skeppy threw his head back and let out a dramatic groan. “Baaaaad, where’s your sense of adventure? We could find so many more diamonds down here, not to mention all the other loot left in the abandoned minecarts.”

“We’re going to need as many resources as we can get,” George added. “Huge trip in a couple days, remember?”

Bad still looked uncertain.

George rolled his eyes and gestured between himself and the redstoner. “Bad, this is probably one of the only times Skeppy and I will agree on something. Take. Advantage.”

Bad gave George a flat look, but he seemed to consider it. His gaze wandered up and down the halls of the mineshaft, eyes tracing the shadows.

George knew that look. It was the same look Sapnap wore when he saw a foreign weapon design, and it was the same look Fundy wore when he discovered a new book of legends in the back of the village’s archives…

_ Curiosity.  _ The desire to further explore the object - or location - in question.

Bad tore his eyes from the tempting shadows to look down at the Screen on his wrist. “Well,” he said, “I guess we’ve still got plenty of time before curfew...”

And so, the three of them set out to explore the mineshaft. They stayed together upon Bad’s insistence, despite Skeppy’s vehement and continuous protests. But, regardless of Bad’s ruling, Skeppy still wandered far ahead, and Bad and George began to naturally space themselves out. However, they were never out of shouting distance.

George quickly found this to be a  _ good _ thing, as he peered around a corner in one of the mineshaft’s crossroads and was met with the brutal gaze of dozens upon dozens of red eyes burning in the darkened hall.

Instinctively, he froze; the eyes stared. Cautiously, he brought his torch forward and cast light upon the waxen exoskeletons coating every surface of the hall. A million things ran through his head, falling back onto his knowledge about the scourge of mineshaft corridors, how hostile they were, their ability to see through light relative to other monsters, how quickly he should - 

The moment the fire of his torch went just a little too close, low hissing reached George’s ears. Then, with a collective shriek, the creatures came scrambling forward.

George reflexively let out a screech of his own and waved his lit torch about. A few of the cave spiders cowered, but those ones were swiftly overtaken by dozens more, their long spindly legs clicking against the stone. There were way too many for him to take on his own, so he turned tail and ran back to the crossroads.

George came skidding around a corner and - quite literally - ran into Bad and Skeppy, who were busy mining a small gold deposit.

Bad’s brow knit together as he put a hand on George’s arm, trying to steady him as he collected himself. “What’s going - ?” His eyes went wide and he put away his pick. “Oh my goodness that’s a lot of spiders SKEPPY - !”

Skeppy looked up. “Wh h hhHHHOLY SHIT - !”

“Just run!” George yelled at them, though they didn’t need to be told twice. Bad grabbed Skeppy by the wrist and hauled him to his feet, and together, the three of them fled the stampede of sickly blue arachnids.

Georoge’s mind flitted through all of his possible options before he ultimately decided to hurl the lit torch at the spiders so he could free his hands for his bow. He knew the torch crashed into a spider from the sound of a hissing cry at the same time all the light in the corridor abruptly went out, leaving them doused in darkness. As Bad led them around a corner, George took out his bow, knocked two arrows and - still running full speed - did a quick three-sixty spin. He released the bowstring at just the right time so the arrows could bury themselves into the heads of two different spiders. They crumpled in on themselves, but just as before, the laggers were overtaken by several more.

While George readied two more arrows, he caught sight of Skeppy rummaging through his bag. A second later, he produced a stick of TNT and some flint and steel. The stick went sideways into his mouth so he could use two hands to light the wick. After just one strike of the flint, the fuse caught, and Skeppy wasted no time lobbing the explosive over his shoulder. The resulting blast took out several of the creatures, but there were still a good dozen or so of the arachnids skittering after them.

George didn’t think it could get much worse, and honestly, he should have known better.

They came to another crossroads, ready to continue full-steam ahead, but a creeper appeared from the shadows of the forward-most corridor. They all let out a collective gasp and darted into the side halls. Unfortunately, none of them had the time to suggest a path of travel, so Skeppy darted off to the left while George and Bad went scrambling to the right.

Bad whirled around when he realized their mistake. “Wait, Skeppy, this way!”

The creeper turned its head to stare at Bad with its soulless eyes and gave an ominous hiss. George grabbed Bad’s wrist and yanked him back just in time for the monster to carve out a massive crater in the middle of the crossroads. The explosion sent them stumbling back, Bad nearly bringing both of them to the ground. Many of the spiders were taken out, but several remained, and they had no problem splitting themselves up to chase after all of them.

A voice came from the other side of the ruined crossroads, receding into the cave as Skeppy presumably fled deeper into the corridor: “Keep going! I’ll meet you guys at the...!” The rest of his words were claimed by the growing distance between them.

Bad seemed to be rooted to the spot, staring down the other side of the crossroads as if he could search for his friend in that looming darkness. The distraction was enough for one of the spiders to lunge and make a grab at Bad’s leg. Bad yelped, and his hands flew to his sword, but George was quicker, swiftly nocking an arrow and letting it fly into one of the arachnid’s eyes. The creature let out a screech and fell back.

Though there were still many spiders, their numbers were much more manageable than before. Bad took out his shield and set them both into a defensive position. He encouraged distance between them and the spiders by swinging in large forward arcs and continuously backpedaling. George was happy to let Bad take the lead on this one - he was a captain of the Wickan Guard for a reason, after all - and played to the strategy he was employing.

Cave spiders were smaller, but they were venomous and tended to travel in packs. Keeping a good three-pace distance from them was the best way to keep from getting poisoned. So, with Bad holding them at bay, George was able to take them out one by one with his bow. He concentrated on making his shots count, aiming for their heads and eyes rather than their legs and bodies. After all, an injured spider could still bite, but a dead one couldn’t.

However, there was another thing to be said about spiders that George couldn’t really do much about: they were quiet, and they could crawl on ceilings.

A particularly large spider dropped down from above and landed right between George and Bad. Immediately, it jumped at George, who was so startled that he lost his grip on his bow and stumbled back. He saw Bad move to help him, sword in hand, but the other remaining creatures hissed and grabbed at his legs, looking to bite. Bad was forced to switch gears and dispatch the threats that were clawing at him.

The larger spider lunged at George a second time, and he sidestepped the attack. His hand flew to his belt where he kept a dagger on him for emergencies such as this. However, having a hand down dropped half of his guard, and the creature took advantage. It bared its teeth at him, leapt, and crashed into his chest. He fell flat onto his back, just barely getting his available arm up to keep the gnashing mandibles and fangs at bay. His other arm was effectively pinned to the ground by the claw-like appendages on the ends of the spider's legs. He could feel them cutting through the leather of his arm guard and slicing into his flesh, but he was a little more concerned about the fangs trying to bite into his face. The creature’s mouth reeked of poison and blood; it was pungent enough to make George want to gag.

With each passing second, George could see those fangs inching closer and closer to his face. His arm burned with exertion as he struggled against the monster’s weight. He turned to wriggle himself out from beneath it, but any movement on George’s part caused his grip to slip, and the spider leaned in closer. 

His breath came in gasps as he ground his teeth. The spider’s head surged closer to George’s face, and it gave a satisfied hiss as it brought its fangs down to George’s cheek - 

A gleaming dagger came out of nowhere and crashed right into the slide of the spider’s skull, splattering blood and guts out the side. The wretched creature didn’t even get the chance to release a cry of anguish before it went limp against George’s outstretched arm.

As quickly as the dagger arrived, it disappeared from the spider’s head, leaving a trail of putrid fluids in its wake. George shoved the spider carcass off of him and looked up to see a dark, unfamiliar figure crouched beside him, soiled dagger in hand. George stared at the new arrival. The stranger seemed to freeze under George’s gaze for a moment before whirling around and stabbing at one of the approaching spiders as it lunged at them.

George snapped out of his shock and quickly put himself into motion. He located his bow and snatched it up. The stranger had stayed low to the ground, which might’ve been a good idea with their weapon of choice, but it also left them horribly vulnerable to the ground-crawling creatures. A spider hopped onto the stranger’s back and clamped its front legs and claws onto their shoulders. George could see them starting to turn their dagger around, but they wouldn’t be quick enough to kill it before it sank its fangs into the back of their neck.

George, however,  _ was  _ quick enough. He lifted his bow, nocked an arrow, took aim, and fired all in one fluid motion. It was a rushed and sloppy shot, but it was enough to knock the spider from the stranger’s back while also making sure the stranger themself wasn’t impaled.

The stranger’s reaction was immediate. They felt the weight fall off their back, and they wasted no time whirling around and burying their dagger straight into the spider’s short neck. With a flick of their wrist, the creature’s head came off with a sickening pop.

For the first time in the past several minutes, the mineshaft’s corridors were free of low hissing. All George could hear now was his own racing heartbeat and both his and the stranger’s gasping breath.

It was too dark to make out the stranger’s face, but George definitely saw the way they let their body’s weight fall back onto their hands. They cocked their head to the side curiously. “Nice shot,” said the stranger. They -  _ he _ \- had a distinctly male voice.

George grinned a little shakily, even though he knew the stranger couldn’t see it. “Nice save,” he answered. George held out a hand in offering. The stranger considered it for a second, then took it, letting George help him to his feet. “You alright?” George added when the stranger was up once more. 

The stranger swayed a little but held steady. “Yeah, I’m good,” he assured. “You?”

“I’m fine.” George squinted through the darkness, trying to make out the man’s face. “Do you have a torch? I… lost mine.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, hold on a second.” The stranger fiddled with something clipped to his bag, and a second later, a lantern was sparking to life in the stranger’s grasp. He lifted it up to eye-level.

George found himself face to face with a plain white mask with nothing but two dark eye holes and a smile carved below them. The decorative grin, George had to admit, was rather unnerving. It was a little too wide and a little too thin. George might've thought he’d run into some strange new sort of monster if it weren’t for the very human mouth and cheeks peeking out from below the mask and behind the stranger’s green patchwork scarf.

However, George did not find the presence of the mask itself to be unusual. Ever since the Aggression had caused all the endermen to ‘go agro’ a few months prior, many people had invested in some sort of mask or eye covering to wear when navigating during the darker hours in order to keep wandering endermen from attacking them. That being said, George didn’t really see why the stranger had to wear his mask while down in the caves, especially in this particular mineshaft. The ceilings were too low for endermen to wander in. Wearing a mask made for so many potential blindstops. Who would wear a mask if they didn’t need to worry about endermen?

Who  _ was  _ this guy anyway?

George was about to inquire further, but Bad came racing down the hall. “George,” he sighed with relief, “ _ there _ you are! I got so held up with the other spiders, I lost sight of where I was going and - ” His eyes fell on the stranger. “Oh, hello, who are you?”

The stranger cocked his head to the side once again, then offered a hand in greeting. “Call me Dream.”

“Dream,” Bad echoed pleasantly as he took the offering and gave it a friendly shake. “My name is Bad, and this is George… Where did you come from exactly?”

“I was wandering through this mineshaft when I heard a commotion and decided to investigate,” explained Dream. “Then I ran into this guy literally wrestling with a cave spider.”

“And losing,” George added. “That spider would’ve had me if it weren’t for him.”

“Well, I’m glad you arrived when you did,” Bad said to Dream. Then, he looked over to George with a grimace. “You know, I think you’re right: Sapnap  _ would  _ kill me if something happened to you.”

“You could probably take him.” George glanced around. “By the way, have you found Skeppy yet?”

Any trace of humor immediately left Bad’s face. “Oh, goodness, I haven’t!” Bad pulled out a torch. “Excuse me, can I light my torch on your lantern?”

Dream nodded quickly and opened the lantern’s hatch, holding it out. “Go ahead.”

Bad placed the torch against the flame, and the fire caught. “Thank you! Come on, George, we’re wasting time.”

“You know,” said Dream slowly, closing his lantern back up, “I could help you look if you want.”

Bad’s face brightened. “Really? We’d love that! Thank you so much.” He turned and started off at a brisk pace down the corridor. “We’ll go back to where we last saw him and have a look around. Follow me.”

George put away his bow and stayed close to Dream’s lantern light as Bad retraced their steps.


	2. Lantern Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thank you to everyone who left kudos on the first chapter. I'm happy to see that people enjoyed what I wrote. 
> 
> Anyway, here's another chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Bad was generally a...calm person. Well, maybe not ‘calm’, but put him next to someone like Skeppy, and he didn’t exactly appear to be excitable. Take Skeppy away, and he was the opposite of calm. Not just because Skeppy wasn’t next to Bad for a comparison, but simply because  _ Skeppy wasn’t next to Bad _ . One thing George had learned about the duo was that they were not to be separated under any circumstances, especially circumstances such as these where uncertainties and danger were involved.

They didn’t know where Skeppy was, and last they had seen him, he was being chased by at least half a dozen cave spiders. Needless to say, Bad wasn’t quite as composed as he was when he donned the Wickan uniform and led a troop of soldiers on night patrol. That was something he could handle. Losing Skeppy in any way, shape or form? Absolutely not. 

Bad let out a frustrated sigh as he prodded at the device on his arm. “Skeppy’s Screen isn’t online.”

“It’s not?” said George, honestly surprised. Out of the five of them, Skeppy’s Screen was always the most well maintained. Deciding to see for himself, George lifted his own Screen and scrolled through the server statuses.

  
  


_ USER: “Skeppy” _

_ -> STATUS  _

_ -> _ **_ERROR_ ** _ : UNRESPONSIVE _

  
  


“I guess messaging him for coords is out of the question,” George decided, dimming his Screen.

“What kind of situation could he have gotten himself into where his Screen was so badly damaged that it went offline?” Bad wondered aloud, voice raising with concern. “Oh, gosh, this isn’t good…”

“It could just be that he got out of range of Northwick’s server towers,” George tried to reason. “We’ll find him.”

Bad didn’t acknowledge the affirmation, and the subject died. There was a heavy silence hanging through the air as they continued along, the quiet broken by nothing but their footfalls. 

Thirty seconds later, George decided he’d had enough. “So, Dream,” he began bluntly, “what’re you doing all the way down here?”

Dream shrugged awkwardly. “Well, I’m…actually a little lost,” he admitted. “I stopped at a cave entrance on the surface to pick up some more coal for my lantern, but a creeper came out of nowhere and caused a cave-in. I ended up losing my tools in the rubble. I’ve been wandering around the caves for…” Dream lifted his arm and rolled back his coat’s sleeve to reveal a battered, time-tested Screen. “...the better part of two hours now. I was hoping to find something to possibly dig my way out or just find another passage to the surface.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I’m glad I found you guys. I was really starting to get worried I’d be stuck down here forever.”

Dream paused. “You guys... _ do _ know the way back to the surface, right?”

“We do,” answered Bad. “Well, George does. He’s our guide.”

“I’ve never been in this part of the cave system before, but yes, I know the way out,” George confirmed with a nod, silently thanking his good sense of direction - and the coords saved on his Screen, of course.

Dream gave a quiet sigh of what had to be relief. George didn’t blame him, if what he claimed was true. Wandering around in an unfamiliar cave for two hours with no proper tools? That sounded like a nightmare (no pun intended).

It was at this point that they came to the ruined crossroads. The rotted wood beams had splintered and collapsed into the crater, sticking out of the dirt, and a light sprinkling of unlit gunpowder had gathered in the bottom. George could see the carcasses of half-exploded cave spiders scattered around the blast zone, guts and carnage staining the walls.

“Oh,  _ gross _ ,” George gagged, bringing the edge of his scarf over his nose and mouth. Bad mirrored the motion, making a soft retching sound at the horrid smell.

Dream simply stood there, arms folded contemplatively. “I’m assuming this is the last place you saw your friend?”

“Yeah. At least we know which way he went.” George pointed. “Straight across the pit of dirt and spider guts.”

“Nice.”

Bad went first, determinedly pressing onward in search of his friend. George went next, being careful not to step into any of the corpses that littered the ground. Meanwhile, Dream brought up the rear and hardly seemed to care about the presence of the monster gore. He simply walked through it, snapping mandibles and exoskeletons underfoot. George didn’t even want to think about how terrible it would be to clean those boots later.

The other side of the crossroads opened up into two paths, one that continued straight ahead, and one that branched off to the right. Bad held his torch low to the ground. “I can’t make out any footprints. I think the spiders trampled them.” 

“We can watch for spider tracks, then,” Dream replied, stepping forward to observe the ground. 

George stepped up as well to try and make out whatever it was that Dream was seeing. The dust collected on the ground of the mineshaft was excessive, but it didn’t really retain footprints very well, especially footprints that had overlapped one another. The result was that the dust was scattered all over the floor, more of a mess than actual tracks. If it had been soil in a forest or wet sand on a riverbed that they were dealing with, George could have made out the footprints easily. This, however, was out of his expertise, and the same seemed to go for Bad, who squinted at the ground with a question in his eyes.

Dream’s head turned this way and that as he looked between the two possible paths, carefully observing the ground. Finally, he announced, “Your friend carried on straight ahead.”

“How do you know?” inquired Bad.

“The dust on the ground is more evenly dispersed in the hall to the right while the dust in the hall ahead of us was disturbed not too long ago. That means there was more recent foot traffic that way."

“What’re the chances another pack of cave spiders came passing through during the last few minutes?” George questioned.

“Low, most likely.”

“There’s only one way to test the theory,” said Bad. “Let’s see where this shaft takes us.” 

The group carried on, though, they didn’t get very far at all before they came across another point of interest: a second crater of dirt and spider guts. “More creepers?” Dream suggested.

“Maybe,” Bad replied, “or it could’ve been one of Skeppy’s bombs.”

“Bombs…” Dream echoed thoughtfully. Lantern tight in his grip, he dropped down into the pit, boots squelching in the gore gathered at the bottom (George gagged), and carefully inspected the crater. He sifted his hand through the loose dirt and stone. “There isn’t much gunpowder here.”

Well, here was something George understood. Northwick Village was smack in the middle of a Creeper Domain, or a “Creomain” for short. That meant that a majority of the monster population consisted of creepers, which in turn meant that every standing soldier and captain had to be drilled on all things creeper-related, including what the end result of a creeper explosion looked like.

“If that’s the case, then it’s from a bomb,” George said. “Creepers leave behind plenty of gunpowder residue when they blow up, and manmade bombs don’t. Skeppy definitely went this way. We might actually be getting close.”

“Then where  _ is he _ ?” Bad wondered, the anxiety from before returning to his voice. He jumped down into the crater and crossed it. “Skeppy!” he called out. “Skeppy, can you hear me?!”

From the shadows of the mineshaft came no response; Bad made a soft, agonized sound.

George crossed the pit and stood beside Bad, once more assuring, “We’ll find him. Let’s keep going.”

Bad didn’t offer any substantial reply, but he carried onward regardless. Dream hopped out of the pit, and once his lantern’s light had enveloped George again, the two of them trailed after the distressed captain.

The mineshaft had quite a few upward slopes before it opened up into a wide cavern. A rickety wooden bridge that was held together by rusted nails and hope stretched over the gap to the other side. Along the edges of the room, the cavern walls sloped downward into a large deposit of gravel and stones. George looked off to the far left. He thought he could make out the faint, telltale glow of magma somewhere further into the cavern. It was certainly much warmer in here than it had been in the other corridors.

“Look,” said Dream. He pointed to a dead spider draped precariously over the edge of the dilapidated bridge.

“He went through here,” Bad realized with a gasp. “Skeppy!” he called once again. “Are you in here?!”

“...Bad…?”

The reply drifted up to their ears, just barely loud enough for them to catch it.

Bad whirled around, searching frantically. “Where are you?”

“Down here...on your...your right.”

Bad wasted no time hopping off the side of the bridge and sliding recklessly down the gravel slopes. George and Dream followed, albeit slightly more carefully.

They found the redstoner laid in the dirt at the bottom, flat on his back. He was coated in grime, a fist-sized bruise discolored his cheek, and drying blood rolled down the side of his head. Beside him lay two dead cave spiders, one of which still had Skeppy’s baby blue dagger stuck in its abdomen.

“Oh my goodness,” Bad breathed, kneeling beside him and setting his torch down so he could feel his friend for other injuries. “Are you okay?”

Despite the fact that his face was twisted up into a grimace, Skeppy still managed to give Bad a flat look. “Do I  _ look _ okay?”

“Ah, sorry, stupid question. What happened to you?”

“I got chased by spiders,” Skeppy rasped, words slow, “and then I tried to blow them up, but that didn’t work. So then I came over here and the bridge gave in and I fell. Think I hit my head on the way down because everything’s pretty fuzzy after that.” He lifted a hand and pointed at the spider with the dagger stuck in it. “Must’ve killed those guys at some point, though.”

George noticed something. “Hold on, let me see your arm.”

Skeppy didn’t seem like he had the energy to put up much of a fuss, so he held his arm out for George to look it over. Dream, seeming to catch onto what George was trying to do, brought his lantern close to George to cast light on Skeppy’s arm.

The fabric on Skeppy’s sleeve had been torn away, revealing two horribly familiar punctures surrounded by an area of greenish-yellow skin. “You’ve been bit.”

Skeppy blinked slowly. “Oh…” A second later, the meaning of George’s words seemed to finally make it through Skeppy’s hazy mind, as his eyes went wide with panic. “ _ Oh.  _ Well, uh, shit.”

“Language, Skeppy,” Bad chastised as he looked over the gash on the side of his friend’s head. Bad turned to George, and while his voice was fairly calm, George could see the swiftly mounting concern in his eyes. “Do you have any health pots?”

“No,” answered George with a shake of his head. “I didn’t bring any. Fundy’s been stockpiling since yesterday, remember?”

“Hold on,” said Dream as he shrugged off his bag. “I used my last potion a while ago, but I might have something else in here.”

Skeppy’s half-lidded eyes shifted to squint at Dream. “And...who are you?”

“Call me Dream.”

“Dream…” Skeppy echoed. He squinted even harder, staring at nothing. “...Am I dreaming?”

“No,” Bad told him.

“Damn, that’s unfortunate.”

“ _ Skeppy _ .”

“Whaaaaaat?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“C’mon Bad, can’t you cut me a little slack?” He winced as Bad brushed some of his blood-matted hair to the side and began to wash away the grime with water from his canteen. “I’m currently in the middle of  _ dying _ .”

“You’re not going to die,” said Bad as though he were dismissing a dramatic toddler who’d suffered nothing more than a scraped knee, though George could tell it was forced. “Cave spider poison isn’t strong enough to kill anyone…” Bad looked to him for reassurance. “Right?”

George knew just as well as any other self-respecting soldier that the poison in spider bites was rarely ever lethal enough to end someone’s life. Even with Skeppy being on the shorter side (making him smaller and less capable of diluting the poison’s effects through his bloodstream), it would take an awful lot more than just one bite to do him in.

But that wasn’t the problem. If the poison didn't get him, then something else would. The point of the poison was to weaken the victim, so Skeppy’s coordination and ability to heal even the simplest of wounds - like a gash on the side of his head - would be greatly hindered. They were lucky to have found Skeppy before anything else lurking in the cave did. It wasn’t likely that Skeppy would have been able to defend himself.

“Right, poison doesn’t kill,” George replied with a firm nod. He decided that, for Bad’s sake, it was best to keep the rest of his thoughts to himself. 

Next to him, George heard Dream heave a defeated sigh. “Yeah, I don’t really have anything in terms of med supplies at the moment. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Bad assured him as he capped his canteen and pressed a scrap of gauze from his small first aid kit to the side of Skeppy’s head. “Thank you for checking. We appreciate it.” Bad took Skeppy’s wrist and guided his hand to press the gauze and hold it in place while he went rummaging for bandages. “George, could you let Fundy and Sapnap know what’s going on?”

George agreed, and he turned his attention to his Screen.

  
  


**_CHATROOM:_ ** _ The Gang’s All Here _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> so we had a bit of an incident and Skeppy hit his head and got bitten by a cave spider _

_ <Sapnap> lmao _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> this is serious Sapnap _

_ <Sapnap> oh sorry _

_ <ItsFundy> are you kidding me?? _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> no...? _

_ <ItsFundy> i’ve spent the last five hrs brewing pots for our trip n then Skeppy goes n gets himself poisoned? _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> uh huh _

_ <ItsFundy> ffs that dumbass _

_ <Sapnap> well if you’ve been brewing all day then shouldn’t you have a health pot ready for him? _

_ <ItsFundy> yeah but the poison will cancel out the effects of the heath pot _

_ <ItsFundy> i need to prep an antidote _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> well okay then, go do that _

_ <Fundy> but antidotes require cow’s milk and the farmers currently hate me _

_ <Sapnap> why? _

_ <ItsFundy> may or may not have accidentally zombified one of their horses last week _

_ <ItsFundy> it’s not important _

_ <Sapnap> literally HOW??? _

_ <ItsFundy> i said it’s not important _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> can you make the antidote or not? _

_ <ItsFundy> probably _

_ <ItsFundy> maybe _

_ <ItsFundy> i’ll see what i can do _

_ <ItsFundy> how long do you think it’ll take you to get back to town? _

  
  


George looked over to Skeppy, who was still laid out on his back. Bad was putting the finishing touches on the bandage and gauze for his head wound, and Dream was running water from a canteen over the spider bites, carefully washing the puncture wounds. Skeppy himself wasn’t looking too hot. His face was starting to go pale, and some perspiration was gathering on his brow. A perpetual grimace had worked its way onto his face. The lack of complaints, however, was the most concerning. 

  
  


**_CHATROOM:_ ** _ The Gang’s All Here _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> with Skeppy hurt, it’ll be slow going. I'd say at least half an hour _

_ <ItsFundy> i think i’ll have something ready by then _

_ <Sapnap> i can get one of the apprentices to watch the forge while i head over to the market to see about getting milk if you want _

_ <ItsFundy> please do. They all hate me _

_ <Sapnap> gotcha _

_ <Sapnap> i’ll be there in ten _

  
  


“What did they say?” Bad asked as George dimmed his Screen. He was putting away all of Skeppy’s redstone supplies, which had spilled all over the place when he fell. Dream, meanwhile, had finished washing and dressing the bites and was in the process of using Skeppy’s scarf to fashion a sling for his wounded arm.

“Fundy has a health potion and he’s working on getting an antidote prepped for when we get back.”

“Okay, that’s good. We should get moving.” Bad moved over to Skeppy’s uninjured side and slid an arm behind his shoulders. The captain struggled with Skeppy’s weight, attempting to get him sturdy enough to lift up. “C’mon, Skeppy, I need you to work with me here.”

“I-I’m  _ trying _ ,” grunted Skeppy between clenched teeth. He took a fistfull of Bad’s cloak in his unaffected hand, but with his right arm in a sling, it was difficult to prop himself up so he could get his feet under him. George stepped in on Skeppy’s other side to offer support. With a little coordination between the three of them, they got Skeppy standing. He didn’t appear to be capable of balancing on his own, relying heavily on Bad to hold him steady. Bad seemed to expect this, as he kept his arm wrapped around Skeppy’s back and shifted Skeppy’s arm over his own shoulders.

Getting out of the lower portion of the cavern and up to the mineshaft’s tunnel was a process that took several minutes. With Bad unable to hold a lit torch anymore, Dream went ahead with his lantern in hand so he could lean over the edge and cast light on the place where the slope and the bridge met. George went up second to offer a hand up while Bad stayed behind Skeppy to catch him if he were to slip. Thankfully, Skeppy hadn’t injured his legs during the fall, but the poison was definitely affecting his strength and coordination.

Once everyone was up, it was (relatively) smooth sailing. George lit Bad’s torch with Dream’s lantern and led the way, going slow for Skeppy’s sake. Dream brought up the rear. Their formation effectively closed in around Bad and Skeppy so there would be less of a chance for a monster to get the jump on them. They continued on at a fairly steady pace. The only obstacles they ran into were those craters that had been blown up in the mineshaft’s corridors (two from Skeppy’s bombs and one from the creeper) and a couple run-ins with monsters.

Dream was actually the one to notice the first monster ambush on their way out. George had no idea how he spotted the skeleton, but one second the four of them were casually making their way through the cave, and the next, Dream was snatching Bad’s shield to protect him from a head-seeking arrow. George had dropped his torch, spun around, and shot two answering arrows. Each one shattered through the skeleton’s ribcage. Dream finished off the creature by bringing Bad’s shield around and crashing it into the skeleton’s neck. The bone snapped, and the head came clean off, leaving the body to crumble to a pile of bones and dust.

They’d all stared at the remains for a moment as they overcame their collective shock. Then, Dream returned Bad’s shield - “Thanks.” - and picked up one of the skeleton’s bows for himself. Then, the group continued on. 

George kept a more careful eye on the shadows after that. It had been quite the close call, and he wasn’t sure Dream would be able to pull a stunt like that again.

George could smell the musty, monster-rotted odor clearing as they drew nearer and nearer to the surface. The corridors of the cave that were closer to the entrance were most familiar to him, and he found himself mindlessly setting a course for the surface-breaching threshold rather than consciously navigating the turns and bends. Signs of human life could be found in these corridors as well: torches (though currently unlit) attached to the walls in proper iron fixtures, wooden crates of mining supplies, well-maintained scaffolding, signs pointing to and naming different tunnels, walkways smoothed out by countless work boots treading over the stone.

Soon enough, George brought them around one final bend, and they were facing out onto the surface world at last. Standing in the mouth of the cave, George could see the old mining camp’s shacks and structures. Trees of the Runica Forest circled the man-made clearing, dark and more-or-less untouched by human hands save for the trail that was carved through the thick foliage to lead back to Northwick.

George heard Dream draw in a deep, grateful breath and couldn’t imagine the relief that the man must’ve been feeling to finally be on the surface again. 

He then turned around to see how Bad and Skeppy were doing, and he pursed his lips. Skeppy was looking significantly worse than when they’d originally found him. George could tell that he was leaning a vast majority of his weight onto Bad, who was determinedly working at keeping them both upright.

Skeppy’s eyes squinted and blinked hard as he took in the late afternoon sunlight that shone through the mouth of the cave. He exhaled softly and pressed his face into Bad’s shoulder, muttering something about his head hurting and turning off the sun. Bad looked over at his friend, eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a fine line. It was the kind of face Bad made when trying to make a difficult decision, or when he was really,  _ really _ concerned. George was inclined to believe that, this time, it was a little bit of both.

“I don’t think Skeppy can make it all the way back to town like this,” he said after a moment of deliberation. “George, I’m going to need you to go ahead and get the potions from Fundy so you can bring them back here.” He turned to Dream. “I don’t know what you intend to do now, but you can follow George back to Northwick if you’d like. I know there’s at least a few vacancies at the inn if you’re interested in waiting out the night here.”

“Yeah, I’ll...definitely check it out,” answered Dream. “Thanks for leading me out of there.”

“Thanks for helping us,” said Bad in return. “Honestly. If there’s anything you need while you’re in town, don’t be afraid to ask us.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dream turned towards the trail leading out of the mining camp and nodded at George. “We going?”

“Yeah,” George replied. To Bad, he said, “Stay safe,” and with Dream walking at his side, they departed from the camp and started heading down the road.

As they made their way to Northwick, George found himself constantly glancing up at Dream. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for until a beam of sunlight hit him in the eye and drew his attention upwards. While the evening was starting to grow old, and the sky had long since descended into the familiar pink-tinted-blue that was indicative of an approaching sunset, the sun was still  _ out _ . There was not much threat of monsters in these woods (at least, when one kept to the well-lit paths). Therefore, there was not much threat of endermen, not now.

And yet Dream still wore his mask. Not once since George had encountered him had the man ever removed it from his face.

Dream must have caught on to George’s frequent looks, as he turned his head to face George himself rather than the path stretched out before them. “Is...something the matter, or…?”

“H-huh?” George sputtered stupidly. His brain caught up with his mouth, and he managed, “Oh, uh, no, nothing’s wrong, I’m just...curious…” The last word was little drawn out, George unable to describe exactly how he regarded Dream’s visage - or visible lack thereof.

“About what?” prompted Dream.

_ Oh, how to go about asking this without sounding like a nosy prick.  _ “Your mask,” said George. “I noticed that you...haven’t taken it off.”

Dream tilted his head to the side, carefully adjusting the object in question. “And why should I?” he asked in return, tone edging dangerously near to irked.

George weighed his options, observed the fine line of Dream’s mouth and the tensing of his shoulders. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

“Hm.” Dream turned his attention back to the road.

George’s abandoning of the clearly touchy subject did little to eliminate the now very prominent tension between himself and this mysterious stranger. In an attempt to bring Dream’s mind elsewhere, George inquired, “So, I know you said you stopped in a cave to pick up coal for your lantern, but I was just wondering what exactly it is you’re doing in the area.”

Dream kept his attention forward, but he gave an awkward scoff. “Are you always this nosy with everyone you meet?”

“You can’t exactly blame me for being curious!” George objected, gesturing wildly with a throw of his hand. “You literally showed up out of nowhere at the bottom of a cave, saved my life, helped me find my friends, and then came with us to the surface. Of course I have questions.”

“Okay, well, I didn’t have much of a choice with that last one. It was either follow you guys or spend another two hours blindly wandering through a cave. My options were limited.”

“My point still stands, so answer my question: what brings you to Northwick? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before.”

Dream folded his arms and shrugged. “I’m traveling.”

“Where to?”

“Nowhere specific.”

“So you’re a wanderer, then?”

“Of sorts.”

“Looking to stay in a village for the night?”

To George’s surprise, Dream’s response was to crinkle his mouth into a frown and say, “No, not particularly.”

“Really,” said George, eyebrows creeping upwards.

“Villages aren’t exactly the safest place to be nowadays,” Dream remarked flatly, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “At night, endermen look for clusters of lights and lanterns. That’s how they find all the villages they destroy. But, they have really poor eyesight, so if you, say, travel alone and always find a dark alcove to rest in for the night, then you’ll never have to worry about being found by one.”

“Or, you put the village into a lockdown blackout during the night and deal with the leftover monsters in the morning,” said George, mouth quirking up into half of a prideful smile. “Northwick understands how endermen work. We’ve got a system in place. Mandated blackout goes into effect every night after sunset and no one’s allowed outside until sunrise. We even round up and hide all the iron golems. It’s foolproof.”

Dream sighed and muttered something sad under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He offered something like a kind grin. “It sounds clever, but I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

George gave him a questioning look. “Still not staying in town?”

“I don’t know,” answered Dream. “I might. I’m just more used to sleeping out here.” He gestured out to the wilderness with a wave of his hand.

“How long have you been out on the road?”

“A few months.”

“A few  _ months _ ?”

“Yep.”

“And you say you’re not headed anywhere in particular?”

“Nope,” answered Dream, then reconsidered. “Well that’s...not entirely true. I don’t have a destination in mind, but I’m looking for places that might have more information on endermen and what made them ‘go agro’ in the first place. I know a good deal already, but I’m always looking for more sources.” He fiddled with his mask again. “I just want to be a little more prepared...”

George grinned wholly at that. “Well, you’re in luck. Northwick has a library with books and scroll that date back centuries. There’s plenty of stuff on monsters and The Legends of Old in the archives.”

Dream brightened. “You’re kidding.”

“Am not. Our friend Fundy knows a lot about the supernatural. I don’t think I could get him to explain it all to you, but I can definitely convince him to show you what we’ve got in the back of the archives. I’m actually headed over to his place now to pick up the potions. I could introduce you, if you want.”

“Thanks, but…” Dream hesitated. “I think I can manage to find a few books on my own.”

George shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The conversation lapsed into silence, though it was far more comfortable than it had been moments before. 

A minute or two later, they came upon the gates of Southern Northwick Village. Standing guard was a large iron golem. It briefly regarded George before switching its red hot gaze to Dream. Metallic joints creaking, it lifted an arm and blocked their path, a low, threatening sound rumbling through its chassis.

“Don’t worry,” George assured the golem, holding up a placating hand. “He’s friendly. Just stopping in town.”

The golem didn’t remove its gaze from Dream, but it lowered its arm and stepped aside. George nodded a brief thank you and hurried his companion along.

“We’ve heard rumors about people sneaking into hidden villages like our own and lighting huge bonfires to attract endermen,” George explained, steering them along the main road to the town square. “Northwick has been on edge ever since.”

“I’ve heard those rumors too,” said Dream. “People are terrible.”

“They sure can be.”

The pair carried on through Southern Northwick, weaving between horse-drawn carts and the children running about the streets. This part of the town was mostly residential areas, along with some markets and shops. It was surrounded by a simple wall that had seen better days, though there were already measures in place to take care of the monsters that found their way during the blackout. All in all, it was a safe part of town. George had lived here his entire life. 

Everytime George glanced back at Dream, he saw that the wanderer’s mouth was folded into a frown. One hand was tucked into his coat’s pocket while the other rested lightly on the back of his neck. From what George understood, it must have been a long time since Dream had stepped foot in a village. The crowds were most likely overwhelming.

With this in mind, George led him down a series of backstreets just off the main road. It wasn’t the most efficient path, but he did notice Dream’s shoulder’s loosen minutely.

The town square, George found, was not quite as busy as it usually was during the day. A glance at the sky and a quick check of the time told him why. Blackout would begin in about an hour. Most people had already made it home or were in the process of doing so.

The reminder of his waning time got him back on track. “Down that road,” George told Dream, pointing to the northernmost street leading out of the square, “you’ll find an inn, and if you go down that road - ” he shifted his arm’s trajectory west - “and make a left, you’ll eventually hit the library. I’d recommend waiting until tomorrow, though. Curfew starts in a little over an hour.”

Dream nodded. “Got it. Thank you.”

George smiled. “Of course. Don’t forget Bad’s offer, by the way.”

“I won’t.”

“Well then. See you around.”

Dream, who had started heading for the northernmost road of the plaza, turned briefly and offered a lopsided grin. “Maybe.” And he left.

George watched him disappear behind a rattling cart. After a pause, George shook his head and set off south. “What a weird guy…”


	3. Bedtime Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned with another chapter! I'm thinking I'm going to be uploading every Friday from now on, though that is subject to change. If anything does change, I'll be sure to let you guys know.
> 
> Again, thank you for all the positive feedback and kind comments. They really make my day!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

Fundy’s parents were the kind of people you’d see on the street and actively avoid brushing shoulders with. The authoritative air about them was the result of a reputation and persona that had been carefully cultivated over the years. They were both well-respected scholars of the supernatural, Fundy’s father being an alchemist and Fundy’s mother being a mage. 

When word of the Aggression reached Northwick back in March, both of Fundy’s parents were tasked with formulating a plan for keeping the village safe. They, with the help of some other village leaders, dove into the records of the library and learned all they could about the endermen’s sudden hostility. They found the texts on The Legends of Old and what people had done the last time the endermen turned violent overnight. Adding their own adjustments to the plan, they guided Northwick towards its current policies, and they continued to research ways to make the already secluded village even more distant and consequently safer. All in all, Fundy’s parents were high-standing members of the community.

That being said, George was old friends with Fundy’s family, so while Master Livingstone greeted Goerge with his usual steely glare upon the archer’s arrival at the shop, George knew that the man was secretly pleased to see him.

Probably.

“Evening,” George greeted the alchemist master, carefully closing the shop door behind himself. He ducked under some low-hanging herb bundles that had been suspended by the fogged windows to dry.

“Good evening,” answered Master Livingstone, only sparing George a glance before turning his attention back to his book. “I assume you are here for your friend’s antidote?”

“I am. How did you know?”

Master Livingstone carefully turned a crinkling page. “That forge boy came rushing in here with a bottle of milk and an urgent need to get into the back room to deliver it to my son. Given his distress, the contents of the bottle, and the knowledge that you and some of your friends had set out for a mining expedition some time ago, I was able to piece it together.”

George blinked. “Right.” He pointed to the back door of the shop. “Can I…?”

Still not looking up from his text, Master Livingstone reached over and lifted the board stretched between the gap in the front counter. 

“Thank you,” George muttered quickly and ducked into the back room.

Immediately, he tripped over a pile of books and nearly face-planted into a box of empty glass vials. 

“HEY!” called a familiar voice from somewhere in the forest of crates, herbs, nether wart bundles, brewing stands, cauldrons, and scrolls. “Watch your fucking step, there’s some expensive shit back here!”

George picked himself up and dusted off his trousers. “Would it really kill you to clean this place up every now and then?” He squinted, searching through the clutter for his friend. “And how did you know it was me? What if I was your dad, or your mom? You don’t want to be cussing at  _ them _ , do you?” 

“Mom is staying at The Tower overnight to work on a project, and Dad knows how to watch where he’s going. Besides…” Fundy emerged from behind some precariously balanced crates of spider eyes and string, holding a pair of glass bottles. “Sapnap tripped over the same pile of books when he came in.”

“Maybe that’s a sign you should pick them up.”

“You’re just uncoordinated.”

“Says the nerd to the famous archer.”

Fundy glared at him, then arched his neck to look past George. “Where are the others?”

George frowned, turning serious once more. “Skeppy was in too rough of shape to make it back to town. Bad stayed with him, and I’ve come ahead to pick up the potions to bring them back to the old mining camp.”

Fundy’s brow knitted up, and he glanced away, muttering something under his breath. By the slightly melodic rise and fall of his voice, it was probably in Galactic. “It’s really that bad, huh?” he finally said to George. 

“Yeah, he’s...not doing too hot.”

“I see…”

Fundy pursed his lips and glanced away. Then, he came forward and held out the potions. George held his hands out so Fundy could carefully transfer the vials into his grasp.

“This is the antidote,” said Fundy, pointing to the thinner of the bottles. “All it is is just some watered down milk with a few things added to make it easier to digest. This,” he continued, pointing to the other bottle which glowed a vibrant pink, “is the potion of health. Be sure to give him the antidote first, wait at least ten minutes, and  _ then _ give him the potion. If he takes these back to back, he’ll probably puke it up, which would be fairly counterproductive. To be honest, I’d wait fifteen minutes just to be safe.”

“Antidote, fifteen minutes, then health pot,” George summarized with a nod. “Got it.” He placed the bottles into his bag and sealed the buckles tight, then headed for the door. “Thanks, Fundy.”

Just as he got his hand on the doorknob, Fundy spoke up. “Oh, and George?”

George turned. “Yeah?”

Fundy regarded him with one of his rarer expressions of genuine concern. His mouth twisted up as he looked for words. “...Curfew and blackout is in just an hour, so I’d hate for you guys to be stuck outside the city walls for the night...and Skeppy...” He trailed off, mouth twisting further before he finished, as if he were annoyed, “Just be quick, alright?”

Out of the five of them, Fundy should’ve known best that cave spider poison did not kill.

He also knew, better than most, that Skeppy was particularly accident prone and had managed some impressive injuries in the past, injuries that just should not have been possible by all logical standards.

So George offered him an understanding nod, exited the shop, and hurried down the main street.

  
  
  


It was forty-five minutes to blackout when George arrived at the old mining camp, slightly out of breath and slick with cool, nervous sweat. He spotted Bad and Skeppy by the cave’s entrance and swiftly approached.

Skeppy, unsurprisingly, did not look much better than before. He and Bad had sat down with their backs against the wall of the cave, Skeppy gently resting his bandaged head on Bad’s shoulder. 

That wasn’t to say that the pair was motionless, though. While Skeppy’s injured arm remained stationary, his other one was lifted up slightly, fingers moving in fluid, rushed movements. A second later, he stopped, and Bad lifted his hand and returned with a few movements of his own. George knew it was sign language, and while he prided himself on having picked up a good collection of words during the years of his friendship with Bad and Skeppy, his knowledge was nowhere near comprehensive enough to keep up with the duo - not to mention that they adamantly refused to teach any of them how to sign, much to Fundy’s frustration.

Bad perked up and stopped signing when George approached. “You’re back,” he observed, letting his hand drop. “You have the potions?”

“Yeah, just a second.” George knelt down, shrugged off his bag, and produced the two vials. He explained the instructions to Bad, who then roused Skeppy from his fitful rest and caught him up to speed. Barely coherent enough to cooperate, Skeppy took the antidote with no complaint and promptly dropped his head back onto Bad’s shoulder, muttering something as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Bad managed a weak chuckle. “Skeppy says it tastes like dog vomit.”

George scoffed, seating himself on Bad’s other side. “I don’t think Fundy has ever made a single potion that tastes good.”

“He should fix that,” said Bad, fiddling with the folds of his cloak. “I bet you he’d make a lot more money off of potion sales if his potions tasted like…muffins, or something.”

“But then you’d have a bunch of people drinking potions because they taste good.”

“Oh, yeah, that’d be a problem.”

Skeppy muttered something else into Bad’s shoulder.   


“What was that?”

Skeppy turned his head to the side so he could properly complain, “He could at least make them taste good for  _ our _ sake.”

“Well,” said George, “you go ahead and have fun trying to convince him to re-brew all of the potions he’s stockpiled for the trip.”

“Thanks, I won’t.” Skeppy promptly hid his face in Bad’s shoulder once more.

Bad patted the top of Skeppy’s head sympathetically, then turned his attention back to George. “So what happened to Dream?”

“I think he’s staying in town tonight.”

Bad raised an eyebrow at him. “You  _ think _ ? What, did you lose him during the straight five-minute walk to Northwick?”

“No, he’s just…” George considered his words. “He’s a bit  _ weird _ , Bad.”

“How so?”

“Says that he prefers resting away from villages. I mean, I get it, but it’s a little odd, don’t you think? I was watching him while we were heading to the town square, and he looked really uncomfortable. I don’t think he’s been around actual people in a long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just up and left town after I gave him directions to the inn.” George pulled a face. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if the inn owner turned him away. He’s still covered in dirt and he’s got spider guts all over his boots. 

“Oh,” he added, growing slightly agitated, “and when I asked him about his mask, he got all defensive about it; I asked him what he was doing traveling, and he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. He’s definitely got secrets, Bad, and I bet you he’s got a  _ lot _ of them.”

Bad tilted his head to the side, thinking. “Everyone has secrets,” he answered amicably. “Just because someone has something they’d rather not reveal, it doesn’t mean they’re inherently bad. Maybe he’s insecure about how he looks, so he wears a mask.”

“Or he’s a fugitive on the run and he doesn’t want anyone to recognize him.”

“Possibly.” Bad shrugged a shoulder. “He seemed like a good enough guy to me. I mean, he saved your life from that cave spider, helped us find Skeppy, and then saved  _ my  _ life from that skeleton. He didn’t really have to do any of that, now did he?”

“...No, I guess not.” George propped his elbows up on his knees and dropped his chin onto the heels of his palms. “He mentioned wanting to learn more about endermen, so I told him about the library and offered to introduce him to Fundy.”

“And?”

“He didn’t agree to meeting Fundy, but I think he’ll be heading to the library tomorrow.”

Bad gave him an odd look. “What, are you going to go looking for him in the archives?”

“Wh - ? Hell no, I’m not a stalker - ”

“Language, George - ”

“ - I’m curious about the guy is all. Aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, but we get all sorts of people around here. It’s just been a while since someone’s stumbled across Northwick. I don’t think we’ve had any frequent connection with other villages since The Aggression started.”

Bad was right. It had been a long, long time since anyone from out of the area had made it to Northwick, much less communicated. Trade between their neighbors was essentially nonexistent, especially when their neighbors themselves no longer existed. Travel out of Northwick had been closely regulated for a while now. The tournaments George would have traveled out for had long since been canceled. Could it still be called ‘cabin fever’ if it applied to an entire town?

So maybe that was why he was fixating on Dream. A peculiar man from out of town was unheard of with so few people traveling nowadays.

George winced. God, Dream was just some regular odd-ball traveler and George had bombarded the guy with questions. Yikes. If he ever ran into Dream again, he’d have to apologize.

George folded his arms over his knees and rested his head on his wrists. “Is it weird that I’m excited that we’re going to be leaving for what could very easily be a suicide mission simply because it means I’ll get out of town?”

Bad hummed thoughtfully. “I would say yes, but that’d be hypocritical. I’m excited to be getting the chance to leave too… and for, you know, the whole ‘saving the world’ thing.”

George chuckled nervously. “Yeah, the ‘saving the world’ thing…”

Because that was the plan, wasn’t it? As far as anyone was concerned, the journey they would set out on in less than two day’s time would result in, essentially, ‘saving the world’.

Fundy had told them about The Legends of Old. The stories were pulled from the very same texts and scriptures he and his mother referred to in order to practice enchantment. He swore on the texts’ words, claiming that the bedtime stories they had been told as children were more than just stories. They were history, an age long forgotten.

According to The Legends of Old, this was not the first time that the tall, docile creatures of the shadows had ‘gone agro’; according to The Legends of Old, the Ender Dragon, an ancient evil, had appeared in the realm of the endermen and assumed control of their minds to wreak havoc on the Overworld; and, according to The Legends of Old, a team of heroes had traveled to The End to seal the Ender Dragon away in the Void.

‘Seal.’ That was the exact word the scriptures used.

Not ‘kill.’

Not ‘destroy.’

_ ‘Seal.’ _

_“The only thing that could explain the sudden reemergence of the Aggression would be the return of the Dragon,” Fundy explained to George and Sapnap one cool late-summer night several weeks before._ _“The endermen’s behavior during the past few months perfectly matches what has been recorded in the texts. The Dragon has escaped her binds, and she seeks vengeance.”_

_ “The Overworld has suffered for it,” Bad continued from where he stood between Fundy and Skeppy. “Hunting parties have gone missing, merchants have left for short trips down the Main Road and never returned, cattle and their farmers have been found in the fields gutted and half eaten. The blackout and curfew may be inconvenient, but I believe that Northwick is one of the lucky ones. Our neighbors - entire cities - have been decimated in a single night.”  _

_ Bad folded his arms. “I won’t stand for it. I’m tired of feeling helpless. There are people out there being killed by the hundreds and we’re just sitting here letting it happen. I don’t want this to be Northwick’s future.” _

_ “So what do you want to do about it?” Sapnap asked. “Why are you telling us this?” _

_ Bad looked to Skeppy and nodded. Skeppy grinned, then reached into his bag and pulled out a scroll. Upon unfurling it, George found that it was a map of all of Northern Othana with notes about trails, known destroyed villages, enderman sightings, and Golestiera - a major city to the south known for its redstone prowess and Nether-related industries. _

_ “We,” said Bad, “are going to The End, and we’re going to slay the Dragon once and for all… _

_ “Want to come?” _

George, at the time, had regarded the plan as the only option. He shared Bad’s sentiment about feeling helpless, being frustrated that his life had been turned upside down and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it.

Until now.

‘Saving the world’, however, had never fully registered in his mind. That was the kind of thing you only heard about in campfire tales and storybooks, in myths and legends.

God,  _ legends _ . If that’s what those heroes from the scriptures were called, then that’s what George would be.

Assuming he survived this.

George heaved a sigh and lifted his head to rest it against the wall behind him. He turned to look at the setting sun, saw the brilliance of day swiftly retreating over the heavy horizon. Tomorrow would be their last full day in Northwick. The following morning, they’d pack up their horses and set a course for Golestiera.

The days were numbered. Whether it was the Dragon’s days or George’s, only time would tell.

  
  
  


They got back to the village just fifteen minutes before enforced blackout. Skeppy, who was still recovering, decided to spend the night with Fundy just so that if anything went wrong, he could quickly get help from someone who was qualified to deal with poison. Bad would head back to the apartment he and Skeppy shared on the south side of town.

George, meanwhile, hurried to the home he shared with Sapnap, a small group of rooms on the upper floor of a two-family building. It really wasn’t much, just two small bedrooms (one was used for storage while they shared the other), a kitchen that had no running water, and bathroom that thankfully  _ did _ have running water, and a main room with furniture and a fireplace, even if burning anything more than candles and dim coals was now strictly forbidden after dark. 

George took the wooden steps two at a time as he rushed to the entrance of the upper floor. He unlocked it and stepped inside, calling, “Sapnap? I’m home.”

There were footfalls from down the hall, and Sapnap came into view. He was still in his blacksmith get-up and had yet to wipe the dirt of the day’s work from his face. It made for a rather strange look, what with the outline of where his headband had been the only spot on his face free of grime.

Upon noticing George in the doorway, Sapnap’s shoulders dropped and he glared. “The hell are you doing standing in the door, man? You’re letting all the warm air out. Get your ass inside.” He then headed off into the livingroom and began to draw the blackout curtains closed.

George rolled his eyes and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “‘Hi, George.’ ‘Good to see you, George.’ ‘I’m so happy you’re okay, George.’” He shrugged off his pack and set his bow and quiver aside. “You don’t care about me at all, do you?”

“Of  _ course _ I care about you,” said Sapnap, turning around and offering a grin. “Who else would I send on errands for me?”   


“So that’s all I am to you: an errand boy.”

“No.” Sapnap came over and placed his hands on George’s shoulder, shifting him to the side. George was confused until Sapnap plopped his elbow right on top of George’s head. “You make a pretty good arm rest,  _ little _ brother.”

George glowered and slapped Sapnap’s elbow away. “I’m literally older than you.”

“Yeah, but you’re little-er.”

“I could take you in a fight.”

“Bet -  _ woah! _ ”

Without missing a beat, George spun around and aimed to clock Sapnap in the jaw. Sapnap threw his head back, narrowly avoiding George’s fist, and grinned. “Well, okay then - ” He answered with a few jabs of his own, all of which George was easily able to dodge.

Sapnap went wide, so George went low, rolling out of the way and coming up on Sapnap’s side to shove him off balance. One lesson that George had never quite learned about fighting Sapnap, however, was that trying to get him to unwillingly move his stance was near to impossible, not just because he was skilled at hand-to-hand, but because George was physically smaller than him. Sapnap simply absorbed the shove and countered with an uppercut that had George’s teeth clacking together. The blow was enough to stun him so that Sapnap could advance and - ...wait, what the hell was he doing - ?

Before George knew what was happening, Sapnap had come up behind him, wrapped his arms around George’s middle, and lifted him off his feet and into the air.

“Sapnap!” George seethed, kicking his legs with reckless abandon and pushing at Sapnap’s arms with the heels of his hands. “Put me  _ down _ !”

Sapnap spun them around and held George tighter. “Not ‘til you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re little-er!”

“No!”

Sapnap spun them again. “Say it, George!”

“Hell no!”

“Say!”  _ Swing!  _ “It!”  _ Swing! _

George ran through his options. He was at a disadvantage; he had his back to Sapnap. What was free? Head, arms, hands, legs, feet; hips were trapped. Head could do nothing. Arms appeared to do little at all. Hands were not in the best position to grab at anything. Legs could kick all day and Sapnap wouldn’t break a sweat.

...What about  _ Sapnap’s _ legs, though? And George’s own feet?

A plan snapped into place. Grinning, George crowed, “NEVER!” and executed his move: one foot hooked around the back of Sapnap’s knee to bend it forward, the other used to strike below the other leg’s kneecap with his heel. 

Sapnap might’ve been immovable in a fight, but he clearly hadn’t been expecting  _ that _ . He gave a yelp as his legs buckled of their own volition. He stumbled backwards in an attempt to regain his footing, but he tripped over George’s bag, and the two of them went crashing to the floor. His grip on George’s waist loosened enough for George to spin around and pin Sapnap with his back to the floor, swiftly immobilizing Sapnap’s arms and legs and pressing the side of his head to Sapnap’s chest, making it virtually impossible for Sapnap to hit or kick him.

Sapnap struggled against George’s restraints. “You...sly...little...shit!” he raged between each attempt at freeing himself.

George laughed. “You know what? I’ll take that as a compliment - ”

There was a series of thuds from below: a broomhandle being pounded on the ceiling of the lower floor. “Knock it off, you two! Next time I hear you roughhousing, I’m contacting the landlord and getting you boys evicted!” 

Sapnap stopped struggling. George lifted his head from Sapnap’s chest and released his friend’s arms, smiling triumphantly. “Aaaaand that’s  _ time _ . I win.”

Sapnap sighed, rolled his eyes, and called, “Sorry, Missus Itzler! Won’t happen again!”

Ms. Itzler grumbled something along the lines of, “You say that every time and  _ yet _ …” Her footsteps receded to another part of the house.

Sapnap punched George’s leg. “Get off me, you gremlin.”

George laughed, but he obliged, lithely hopping up. He offered a hand, and Sapnap took it happily, allowing George to haul him to his feet. Once he was steady, Sapnap put his hands on his lower back and leaned backwards with a groan. “God, did you have to do it so that I landed on my  _ spine _ ? I spent the whole day bent over an anvil. Show some mercy, man.” 

“Keep that in mind next time you decide to call me short,” George shot back. He went to the wall on the far left of the main room where a thin wooden board was hung up. A line had been drawn down the middle with  _ ‘SappyNap’ _ carved in the top of the left column and  _ ‘Gogy’ _ carved in the top of the right. Below each name was an array of tallymarks. George took out his dagger and cut one more line into the scoreboard under his ‘nickname’.

Sapnap came up beside him, counting under his breath as he looked over George’s shoulders. “Ha!” he exclaimed after a pause. “I’m still ahead of you!”

“By, like, two points. I’d suggest a rematch right now - just for the satisfaction of kicking your already wounded pride - but I’m afraid that Missus Itzler will actually get us evicted.”

“We’ll have to do something to make it up to her.”

George scoffed. “Uh, I’m sorry, ‘we’? Last I checked, you lost this round. I don’t have to do shit.”

“Ughh, come on, man!”

“Those are the rules, ‘Sappynap’,” said George, tapping the hilt of his dagger against the scoreboard. He put his blade back on his belt and returned to his gear (which was now scattered all over the floor, thanks to Sapnap tripping over it.) “And might I remind you who came up with that particular rule?”

Sapnap sighed, defeated. “Me.”

George smiled brightly. “That’s right!” he congratulated as he shrugged off his coat. “ _ You _ did! Have fun cleaning out Missus Itzler’s gutters tomorrow.”

Sapnap pulled a face. “Eugh, you really think she’d make me do that?”

“Not sure. But, you’ll have to do whatever she so desires.”

“Literally  _ anything _ would be better than cleaning the gutters.” 

“I’d watch your words if I were you,” said George as he hung his coat beside the door. “Don’t want to tempt fate.”

“What happened to your arm?”

George blinked. “Huh?” He let go of his coat and brought his arm down to inspect it. A few gashes filled in with dark, dried blood muddied the pale skin. “Oh. That. Yeah, to be honest, I forgot about that.”

“How do you forget about  _ blood _ on your arm?” Sapnap demanded, stepping forward and taking George’s arm into his own grasp so he could look it over.

George picked at the forming scabs absentmindedly. “Was kind of busy not getting my face eaten off by a cave spider.”

Sapnap slapped George’s hand to get him to stop picking at his wound, then released him to take up the matchbox resting on a little table nearby. “How did that go, by the way? Is Skeppy alright?”

“Skeppy’s fine,” answered George as he watched Sapnap strike a match and light a candle. The little flame’s glow restored the illumination of the room that had been lost when the blackout curtains were drawn shut. “Or, well, he  _ will  _ be fine. We gave him the antidote and the potion, so all he needs now is some proper rest. He’s staying at Fundy’s tonight just to be safe.”

“Bad too?”

“No, just Skeppy.”

“Hm.” Sapnap lifted Geroge’s bag and shouldered it, and George scooped up his bow and quiver. “Is that really the best idea, leaving Bad to spend the night on his own?”

“I don’t know,” George admitted, following Sapnap further into their home. “From what I understand, Bad hasn’t had a rough night in a long time.”

“He also hasn’t spent a night without Skeppy somewhere nearby in a long time.”

“True.”

They passed the first door of the tight hallway and stepped through the second one, which brought them to the ‘storage room’. There was only one tiny closet in the entire upper floor, so upon moving in, they forewent separate bedrooms and turned the spare room into a storage area for all their gear and belongings. Though it was nowhere near the level of mess of the Livingstones’ shop, calling the storage room ‘controlled chaos’ was being rather lenient in the use of the word ‘controlled’.

Regardless of the mess, Sapnap plopped George’s satchel on an available elevated surface (something that had once been a table but was so old it could’ve been anything but), and George hung up his weapons.

“I mean,” Sapnap continued, unfastening the satchel’s buckles, “Bad said he’s gotten better with his sleeping habits, but how much of that is with Skeppy’s help? I don’t really trust him to be able to take care of himself in that way.”

“You’ve got to have a  _ little _ faith in Bad,” George remarked, unbuckling his outer belts and straps to hang up as well. “He’s responsible.”

“I dunno. He hasn’t given me any reason to trust him on that front.”

George saw that this was only going to go in circles, so he dropped it. “Fine. That’s fair. I think he’ll be okay, though.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

George turned around to find that Sapnap had already unpacked half of George’s bag. His smaller tools, extra med supplies, and enchantment bottles were laid out on the table, though Sapnap was still rummaging. “Dang it, George, you’ve got literally everything  _ but _ what I asked you for in here.”

“Ah, right, the diamonds,” George recalled. “Bad has them. He forgot to give them back to me so I could hand them over to you. You can get them from him in the morning.”

“How many did you find?”

“Three stones.”

“ _ Three _ ?” Sapnap echoed, surprised. “Nice! That should be enough to finish the plating on Fundy’s gear. You find anything else interesting while you were down there? Besides a bunch of spiders, of course.”

“Yeah, actually,” said George, hopping to sit on the tabletop. “We ran into someone down in an abandoned mineshaft.”

Sapnap snorted. “Very funny.”

“I’m serious, Sapnap. He saved me from a cave spider. Tall guy, heavy cloak and hood, greenish scarf, creepy mask, calls himself ‘Dream’.”

“A mask?”

“Yeah, and get this: he  _ never  _ took it off. Not even when we got into town.”

“That’s sketchy.”

“I know, right?” George agreed surging forward with a wild throw of his hand. A second later, he sighed and let his head drop, leaning back. “I do owe him, though.”

“He staying in town?”

“I think so.”

“If that’s the case, then I want to meet him.” Having unloaded George’s pack of all the spoils of caving, Sapnap threw the tools and med supplies back in for next time and sealed it up. “I’ve gotta meet this new guy for myself. Did he say where he’s from?”

“No, but he did say that he’d been traveling for months. Wouldn’t be surprised if he was from the southern side of the Henzo River, maybe even further.”

Sapnap hummed thoughtfully, nodding as he plopped George’s bag amid the (‘controlled’) chaos scattered around the room. “I dunno about you, but I’m beat. I’m gonna go get all this dirt off my face, and then I’m gonna go pass out for the next seventeen hours.”

George laughed. “That’s fair. I might stay up a bit.”

“Doing what?”

“Not sure yet. Might review the plans for the trip, might stare at the ceiling and contemplate existence for a couple hours. It’s up in the air at the moment.”

What George ended up doing was attempting to organize the storage room. He knew there wasn’t really a point to it, as he’d probably end up making more of a mess, but it was something to do. He didn’t yet feel like going to sleep, too many things on his mind and a bit of nervous energy left over from the day’s happenings. Nothing really got the blood pumping like almost being gutted by a giant arachnid.

There was also the matter of the trip that was to begin in just a day or so. George, however, was trying his damndest not to think about it too much, because if he did, then he really _would_ spend the night staring at the ceiling contemplating existence. He wondered if the others felt the same way: excited and nervous and eager and terrified all at the same time. Did they waste hours daydreaming and dreading the inevitable like he did? Had they come to the realization that this plan could turn them into legends just as easily as it could put them in an early grave?

George shook his head and rearranged the crates of spare candle wicks for a third time.  _ Don’t think about it , don’t think about it, don’t think about it… _

Sometime later, Sapnap popped his head through the storage room door to wish George a brief goodnight and to advise him not to stay up too late. George had responded with a simple, “I won’t, ‘night Sap,” and carried on stress cleaning for another thirty minutes. When he was done, George stood in the center of the room to find that, not to his surprise, everything was still one massive mess. Things were moved around, sure, but they hadn’t exactly been... _ organized _ .

It didn’t really matter. In a couple days, he wouldn’t have to see this room for a very long time.

Feeling far less restless than he had earlier, George left the storage room to go get ready for bed himself. He, like Sapnap, settled for washing the grime off his face. He also took the time to address the scabs forming on his arm. They really weren’t all that serious - God knew George had suffered far worse - but the fact that they were given to him by the filthy claws of a cave spider made him a little more inclined to properly wash and dress the wound. So, after using a little soap and a fresh rag to clean it, he picked up a roll of cheap bandages and headed off to the bedroom, deciding to finish up from the comforts of his own bed.

The shared bedroom was small but functional. A bunk bed rested against the right wall while a dresser and a door to a shallow closet were to the left. Against the far wall was a nightstand holding a decanter of water, a (now unlit) candle, and a small redstone clock. Above it was a large window which, of course, had the curtains drawn over it. The ceiling itself followed the slope of the building’s roof with the highest point being on the same side of the bunk bed. It was just high enough for George to sit upright in bed if he ducked his head slightly. 

So George did just that. After depositing his white forge goggles on the dresser, he treaded up the ladder, skipping the creaky rung as not to wake Sapnap, and plopped himself cross-legged in the middle of his bunk. With his back against the wall and the majority of the bandage roll sitting in his lap, he began the mindless, methodical work of wrapping the cheap fabric around his right forearm. It was awkward, what with only having one hand available, but he managed well enough.

As he wound up his arm, his eyes drifted lazily across the room until they fell upon a specific bit of decor on the opposite wall.

Now, George and Sapnap had done plenty to try and liven up their cramped little home when they first moved in, and Sapnap’s older brothers had helped out. Dotted around the rooms were small metal trinkets crafted by Sapnap’s family, along with some simple, cheap paintings for a pop of color. A few beautiful (but thankfully very low-maintenance) potted plants were gifted by Fundy, and they rested on the kitchen windowsill; a small redstone lamp from Skeppy was fixed to one of the walls in the living room; an ornate shield from God-knows-where was mounted above the fireplace by Bad.

George himself hadn’t really had much to offer. He wasn’t a very 'artsy' person, so there was nothing he could make. His competition trophies, while impressive, were just mementos of his own accomplishments. They didn’t feel like they were meant for decoration of a shared home. They didn’t feel like they had the same heart-felt value as the other decorations.

The aforementioned gifts from Sapnap’s brothers were meant for both of them, of course. Sapnap’s family, as far as anyone was concerned, was George’s family as well. He had been living under the Smith family’s roof since he was thirteen, and his mother had been a close friend of Sapnap’s father, who, to George, had always been Uncle Noah. But, regardless of how much he loved them, Sapnap’s family was not George’s heritage. They were a family of metalworkers, and George was the last remaining heir of a dying lineage of famous archers. He had little in terms of heirlooms.

Except for one, simple treasure.

Mounted carefully on the wall amid the metalwork and little cheap paintings was the Darkwood Bow. Etchings of oak leaves and spindly vines cascaded down the body, embellished with painted silver and gold blooms, as well as long-faded Galactic runes. On the limb tip, the scrap of a crimson scarf was tied in a neat, long-tailed knot. If George had eagle-eyes, he might’ve been able to make out the name carefully embossed into the riser beside the emblem of the Wickan Guard:

  
  


**E** **LEANOR** **D** **ARKWOOD**

  
  


_ If she were alive, would she be the one to journey to The End, or would I still take up the responsibility? _

Arm thoroughly wrapped up, George tore the bandages off the roll and finished off the dressing with a small knot. He then tossed the roll to the bedroom floor, not bothering with putting it away in its proper place. That would be a matter to deal with in the morning. 

When George and Sapnap had first moved in, they hadn’t really thought much about how their furniture would be situated. They’d assembled their shoddy bunk bed on the far right wall, pushed to the back corner, simply because the low ceiling wouldn’t allow it to go anywhere else.

What they hadn’t realized then was the fact that this put the head of the bed in the perfect spot so that George could rest his head on his pillow and peek through the gap between the curtains and the window frame. While it hadn’t meant much a few months prior, being able to see the stars shining brightly against the shadows of Southern Northwick rooftops meant all the world to George in these darker times.

Eyes dancing amid the heavens, George drifted off to sleep.


	4. Aggression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ey, chapter 4 lets gooo!
> 
> Fun fact: the beginning of what I like to call "cameos" happens in this chapter! So, other MCYTs will show up or be mentioned from time to time, and not all of them are in the tags, so keep an eye out for that!
> 
> Another fun fact: while editing this chapter, Jem and I spent two hours discussing a bunch of world building details that will probably never be used! It was fun regardless.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! <3

After being woken up by a pillow to the face nearly every morning for months, you would think that George would be used to it by now.

Evidently, he was not.

George surged upwards with a sharp intake of breath and smacked his head on the low ceiling. “Ow, shit - !”

“Language,” Bad reprimanded from the foot of George’s bed.

George rubbed his head and glared at his friend, who was far too chipper for the hour. “There  _ has  _ to be a better way for you to do that.”

“Oh, probably. This is just so much more fun.” Bad hopped down the ladder and waited patiently in the center of the room for George to stumble out of bed. He brought the pillow Bad had thrown at him so that when he was down on the floor he could use it to wake Sapnap as well.

One  _ ‘whump!’  _ on the head later, and Sapnap was stirring. “Mmngmngm,” was his eloquent greeting, waving a hand to get George to take the pillow away even though it had long since left his face. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “What time is it?”

Bad prodded at his Screen. “Five forty-five. Good morning!”

“Fuuuuuuck.”

“Geez, you two’ve really got a mouth in the morning.” He patted George on the shoulder. “You know the drill. Make sure to grab Eret on your way over as well. I’ll see you at the square in thirty.” And with that, Bad left the room as quickly as he came.

George wasted another minute mourning the loss of sleep before finally getting himself into action. He dressed quickly, checked his bandages, and geared up in his Wickan soldier’s attire. When he left the house not ten minutes later, Sapnap was right beside him. The moment they stepped foot outside, they spared each other a glance and automatically pulled their face coverings down. George’s was his trusty white forge goggles. He had quickly discovered that the tinted lenses meant that he could still see fairly well while also hiding his eyes and the upper half of his face from the sight of endermen. Before the Aggression, he’d worn the old forge goggles atop his head just because he liked the look of them, especially after he’d painted them a crisp white. Now they had a practical use as well.

Sapnap, meanwhile, donned a simple white mask with embellishments on the sides that looked like flames. Most people, a few weeks into the Aggression, had taken to decorating their masks, if only to make the dire circumstances a little more fun. It made early morning patrols such as these all the more interesting.

Having no lanterns lit or golems patrolling during the night meant that monsters tended to find their way into the battered town walls. A  _ lot  _ of monsters. To be quite honest, going dark during the evening wasn’t the  _ worst _ possible thing, especially if they had been living in normal circumstances. With everyone being home by sunset, no one would be cornered by wandering monsters, and the monsters that made it into town were tricked by the lack of life and movement that the town was abandoned. The only threats, in that case, were zombies, which were actually capable of smelling humans. However, the sound of the undead pounding at the window or at the door had become just another one of the sounds of the night. Zombies didn’t like to have to fight for their food, so as long as the door was firmly shut and locked, they'd give up eventually

Of course, in recent months, there was the problem of endermen accidentally teleporting into someone’s living room, but that had been avoided by the fact that endermen had really poor eyesight and that most houses had ceilings too low for an enderman to comfortably stand.

Northwick’s defenses nowadays were a precarious balance of coordinated plans and beneficial coincidence. They worked though, and that was all that mattered.

Sapnap and George had to meet up at the town center to be properly divided into their teams by their captains, and along the way, they had to grab Eret. Northwick was secluded and not exactly a redstone superpower like Golestiera. They had lampposts, basic drainage systems, a clock tower, and a bell tower. Alarm clocks were not common, and Screens hadn’t yet been upgraded to set alarms. Hence, the pillow in George’s face.

They ran into a few monsters lingering in the streets on their way over to Eret’s. They were to try to avoid contact with them as much as possible as not to draw the attention of endermen lumbering through Southern Northwick.

Oh, because there  _ were  _ endermen. Plenty, in fact. Having endermen in the village was never a good thing, but if endermen had no reason to believe that they were in a village in the first place, then all was well. Keeping up the facade was difficult, however, and it relied heavily on being quiet, staying out of their way, and keeping a mask on at all times. Having monsters wandering around at night helped, adding to the ruse that the area was not populated. 

Endermen usually all left around the same time, when the sun was at a certain point on its climb over the horizon. (At this time of year, that point would be achieved at about 6:40 in the morning.)

So until then, and even for an hour after, silence and caution.

Southern Northwick (and the entire town overall) was a tight-knit community. Everybody knew everyone in some capacity. Eret wasn’t a close friend, per say, but they were well enough acquainted to work together on getting ready for dawn patrol. George used the key Eret had given him to get inside his small set of rooms and wake him for guard duty.

By 6:15, all of Southern Northwick’s fighters had gathered in the square. Standing by the fountain were Bad, the five other captains, and the bleary-eyed men and women who split off into their groups to report for roll call. George bid Sapnap adieu, and they parted ways.

George’s captain was a man who went by ‘Techno’. He was a broad-shouldered, muscular swordsman who always walked with his head held high and spoke with a minorly condescending tone, as if everything he said was satire. Other than Bad, he was the youngest of the captains, chosen for his prowess with a sword, skill with the bow, and intelligence on the battlefield. 

Currently, the only thing Techno had on George in terms of status was seniority; Techno was just three years older.

Not that George  _ wanted _ to be a captain or anything... 

Techno gave his usual spiel about sticking together in their groups and moving silently, then finally stopped talking and sent the teams of four out on their patrols through Southern Northwick. The goal? Take care of the monsters before releasing the golems for the day, and, if needed (though the Guard never had to in the past), handle any and all endermen that lingered long after dawn.

That morning’s patrol was uneventful. Just as usual, Techno put George’s group of soldiers and volunteer fighters on ‘creeper duty’, which was fairly self explanatory: dispatch creepers swiftly and, if possible, from a distance so they wouldn’t blow up any houses. Another group was tasked with taking out spiders that had made their homes on walls and rooftops while a third group took care of skeletons and zombies.

As George marched down the street, arrow-nocked bow ready in his hands, he saw youthful faces peeking out from behind the blackout curtains draped over every home’s windows. All of them wore masks, their young ages revealed by the messy artwork of paint splotches and scratchy carvings that decorated their face coverings. Oftentimes, when George noticed them, the curious gazes would disappear in a flurry of fabric. However, a few would remain, watching with wonder and sometimes longing as the soldiers and volunteer fighters of the village marched through Southern Northwick.

George saw a young girl peeking out from behind a curtain, mask decorated by blue- and green-dyed feathers. In her hands, she held a small toy bow with a foam-tipped arrow nocked on the string. She kept looking between George and her own bow, adjusting her grip every time she glanced down.

George, who was marching in the back of his group, stopped briefly and waved at her. The girl’s mouth dropped open, and she waved back shyly. Then, George made a show of lifting up his bow and opening and closing his fingers, demonstrating the position of his hands and how they gripped the bow and arrow. The girl nodded and quickly assimilated the pose, head ducked down as she worked. A couple seconds later, she looked up once more, and with a wide grin, lifted her toy weapon demonstratively. George smiled back and gave an encouraging nod. Hopping up and down, she nodded once in return and vanished behind her curtains.

“Darkwood,” a groupmate beckoned from up ahead. “Come on, soldier, don’t lag behind.”

George hurried to catch up.

They fought their way through Southern Northwick, not really saying much and instead communicating via Screens and hand signals. By the time they got to the end of their route, George had probably taken out two dozen creepers - living in a Creomain was truly a pain sometimes. 

At 7:40, it was time to regroup and head back to the town square. They ran into other groups along the way, one of which Techno had decided to accompany in patrols that morning (regulations stated that he had to go out with one of his groups on occasion to do an evaluation of their performance). 

Some of the solemnity of the morning had begun to burn away with the rising sun. The soldiers and volunteer fighters began to chat among themselves, whispering stories and gossip quietly as to not shatter the careful silence of the morning. George found himself up towards the front with Eret, discussing - well,  _ arguing _ \- if a bow outclassed a crossbow (which it did, thank you very much). 

The ‘discussion’ was starting to get a little more heated when Techno raised a closed fist and came to an abrupt halt as they rounded a corner. Immediately, every fighter froze, hands shifting to their weapons and all conversation dying out like a puff of air on a candle flame. George craned his neck to look past Techno and…

Well, there it was. An enderman, just...standing in the middle of the street...at 7:50 in the morning. 

Endermen did not appear as innocent as they used to. The old endermen were thin and lanky with soft-looking hides and wide, blue-green eyes. Curious creatures, they had been. It was said that if you gave an enderman a gift (a trinket, a flower, an interesting rock - anything, really), it would forever cherish the object and return the favor one day. 

Endermen had been curious, kind, shy. If there were white-winged angels flying by day, then there were shadow-scaled saints wandering by night. 

These endermen were not that. 

These were jagged around the edges, both in shape and in attributes. Little spines and horns had sprouted on their limbs, and their once rounded fingers had been carved into serrated claws. Their recently acquired bulk kept them at about the same height, but now they lumbered about with a hunch, like they were being weighed down by their own bodies. Wispy strands of sickly purple magic hung around them in a heavy fog and trailed after their every step. 

No one knew, in great detail, what their eyes looked like, not truly. Masks protected people from a glance in the wrong direction, but as for dead-on looks? Well, curiosity killed the cat, and in this case, satisfaction was nowhere near enough to bring that poor fool back. 

George could feel the unease rolling through the party of soldiers and fighters. An encounter with an enderman this late in the morning was not a good sign. Not only did it mean that endermen were being more curious about this neck of the Runica Forest, but it was almost 8 AM - the end of the blackout. People would be looking to open curtains and greet a new day. If one enderman was alerted to the fact that it  _ was  _ standing in the middle of a populated village, then it would be all over. 

Techno didn’t say anything when he handed George a small bottle of water with a wide cork in the top; George didn’t  _ need _ to be told anything at all. Dealing with lingering endermen was something that was frequently practiced, though deterrent strategies had never been used in an actual encounter up until this point. 

George carefully took the bottle into his hands and gave Techno a brief nod of understanding. Techno nodded back and signaled George to proceed to the left while he himself went to the right. 

What came next were careful, cautious movements. All encounters with the spined foes would bank heavily on their poor eyesight. The flick of a wrist or a stumbled step would be enough to get an enderman’s attention and raise its suspicions. 

The enderman, so far, hasn’t seemed to notice either man’s presence. It simply stood there, occasionally shifting forward a step or two, or scratching at the ground with its knife-sharp claws. 

Though, it did seem to be catching onto their presence as George got into position. He stopped moving and carefully uncorked the bottle of water. He kept his other hand at his side and closed his fingers around the cork. This balled his hand into a fist, which he kept on his thigh: the signal to Techno that he was in position and ready to advance.

Techno mirrored George’s stance on the enderman’s other side and mirrored the balled-fist gesture as well, confirming his own preparations for George. Keeping his eyes on the enderman’s legs and Techno in his peripheral, George held deathly still.

And then they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After about fifteen seconds, the enderman idly shifted a step forward. Simultaneously, George and Techno advanced. George was sure to be quicker, splashing the water from the wide opening in the bottle onto the ground in front of the enderman’s feet. The moment it made contact with the water, Techno came in with his sword and slashed at its legs, adding more pain and urgency to the attack.

No one was really sure why, but water had an extremely adverse effect on enderman. It ‘boiled’ their hides, melting away the scales. Since the Aggression had started, George, along with the other soldiers of Northwick, had been told to keep their distance from a boiling enderman. So, as the enderman’s jaw came unhinged in a spine-crawling creek and released a shriek of anguish, George threw himself back a step. Techno did the same.

A second later, the enderman vanished - nothing more than purplish vapours left behind in the blink of an eye.

Everyone was still for a solid minute, waiting to see if the enderman had realized that it had been tricked, that it had, in fact,  _ not  _ stepped in a puddle and burned itself; that it had been attacked by a pair of humans wielding a sword and a bottle of water.

After that minute had passed, no endermen hordes had shown up to tear their home appart and slaughter the people of Northwick.

Techno relaxed, sheathed his sword, and adjusted his pig-like mask. “All clear.” 

The team carried on with their trek back to the town square.

  
  
  
  


“...So I splashed it with water and Techno stabbed at its legs. Then it screamed and disappeared. I’m pretty sure my heart was about to go galloping right out of my chest while we waited to see if we’d done something wrong.”

“Well, clearly you didn’t,” said Sapnap, taking a bite out of his apple as he leaned back onto a lamppost. “Today would’ve been a whole lot different if you had.”

George managed a weak chuckle. “Yeah, to think that we could’ve gone down at the hands of an enderman horde the day before we set out to put an end to it.”

“So the strategy for deterring endermen really works?” Fundy inquired while looking over the vendor’s fruits. “I mean, Mom and Dad researched every possible way to approach an enderman’s presence in the town, but it had never really been properly tested.” He turned back to the vendor and pointed to a basket of sweet berries, inquiring after the price.

“Well, tell your parents they did a good job, because it turned out flawlessly,” George continued as Fundy paid the vendor. “Now, if we could start working on ways to  _ kill  _ them…”

“Hopefully, there should be no need for that.” Fundy picked up his basked of sweetberries and held it out for George, who happily took one and popped it into his mount; Fundy did the same. “If all of my research concerning the Nether is to be trusted - which it is - then, theoretically, we could go this entire trip without having to slay a single enderman.”

“Theoretically,” Sapnap echoed.

“Yes, theoretically. I have a feeling we will be forced to fight one at some point, probably as a result of one of you dumbasses looking at it funny.”

“Who’s to say it won’t be you?”

“Oh please, fucking up is for amatures.”

George snorted at Sapnap’s genuinely affronted expression and swiped another sweetberry.

It was noon of the day before they were to set out on their journey, and according to Bad, it was to be their ‘rest period’ in preparation for the trials they would inevitably face in the coming days. Of course, that hadn’t stopped some of the work that had to be done that morning. Following dawn patrol, George and Bad had to carry on with the first shift of day patrol, handling the golems and doing extra checks along the perimeter. Meanwhile, Sapnap was just a volunteer for dawn patrol, filling in the holes that missing soldiers had left in recent months. After roll call, Sapnap, along with the rest of the citizens amid their ranks, were released to carry on with their morning. For Sapnap, that meant spending a couple hours in the forge getting the last bit of plating done on Fundy’s armor.

George and Bad had just gotten off duty an hour before. Immediately after being dismissed, George went home to eat anything he could find in the pantry, as he hadn’t eaten since the afternoon of the previous day. Bad had said something about taking a nap, which could have meant one of two things: he was taking this ‘rest period’ thing seriously, or Sapnap had been right, and Bad hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.

The latter was confirmed when Fundy met up with George and Sapnap in the marketplace down the northward street from the town square. He’d said that, firstly, Skeppy was back to his bright, bubbly self, and secondly, he’d returned to the rooms he shared with Bad to ‘check in on him’.

“Bad seemed fine this morning,” George remarked as he and his friends strolled through the market, passing the time. “He was just as chipper as usual.”

“It’s always hard to tell with him,” Fundy recalled. “One night without sleep doesn’t change too much, I’ve noticed, but the moment you hit forty-eight hours - ”

“‘DrunkBoyHalo’,” finished George.

“ _ Hella _ ‘DrunkBoyHalo’,” agreed Sapnap. “You think that whole... _ insomnia _ thing is going to be a problem while we’re on the road?”

“I don’t know,” Fundy confessed with a shrug. “I’ve toyed with the idea of brewing something to help him sleep, mild weakness potions to act as a sedative of sorts. But Skeppy will be with us, and Bad always sleeps better when Skeppy’s around.”

“Bad  _ only  _ sleeps when Skeppy’s around,” Sapnap muttered into his half-eaten apple before taking another bite.

“Do you have any idea why that is, Fundy?” George asked. “You talk to Bad a lot. Does he tell you anything?”

Fundy shook his head. “I don’t know much more than you guys. All I’ve got is that Skeppy ‘n Bad are really close and they go way back. Bad once mentioned something about growing up together in their ‘hometown’. Then again, it was three in the morning at the time and Bad probably hadn’t slept in more than two days, so his words should be taken with a grain of salt.”

George thought back to what Bad had been telling him the previous evening:  _ “Everyone has secrets.”  _ Bad would know such a thing better than most, wouldn’t he?

“I don’t really think it matters,” decided George, stealing another one of Fundy’s sweetberries. “If Bad sleeps, then he sleeps. That’s what’s important.”

“Yeah, but I doubt he slept last night, and I’d bet actual money he’s asleep now,” Sapnap said, wincing sympathetically. “He’s going to have one hell of a time trying to get some rest tonight. Circadian rhythm who?”

“We’ll hold a funeral,” Fundy joked. “‘In loving memory of Bad’s sleep schedule.’”

“Bold of you to say that he even had one in the first place.”

They rounded another corner in the marketplace, where stands with more animal-related products were lined up: fresh meat, leather, fur, hides, cheeses, even bones. They had made their way over here for Fundy’s sake. He wanted to make a few poison antidotes to have on hand during their upcoming travels just in case there were any more incidents, and even the anti-spoil variety of antidotes required some amount of cow’s milk. So, today, Fundy was going to make an attempt at bribing some of the farmers into selling to him again. Sapnap, who was used to negotiating prices for ironwork commissions, was there to help out. George was present simply for the entertainment - and the free sweetberries. 

Before Fundy and Sapnap could advance on the farmers’ stands, however, some shouting in a nearby alleyway caught their attention. The three of them stopped walking and glanced at each other, wordlessly asking,  _ “You heard that too, right?” _

George was the first one to make a move. He ducked off to the side and came up to the wall along the entrance of the alley, peeking around the corner to investigate the source of the commotion. He wasn’t too surprised to find that there was a brawl going on: two men he recognized as the Hayes brothers - known troublemakers in Southern Northwick - ganging up on a single victim.

What George  _ was  _ surprised to find was that the victim in question was none other than Dream.

George winced as he saw the masked wanderer take a hard left hook to the jaw, sending him reeling back. Dream staggered, though he did not fall and instead returned the favor, landing a gloved blow to one of the brother’s chin. But it wasn’t a fair fight. While he was deflecting the first brother’s advances, the second brother came up on his side and struck him in the ribs. George heard Dream wheeze out a pained breath, catching himself on a nearby wall with one hand while his other flew up to protect his bruised side. The men were closing in on him.

George had seen enough. Before either of his friends could say anything, he squared his shoulders and marched into the alley, rolling up his sleeves. He came up behind the first brother and tapped him on the shoulder.

The man whirled around; George socked him in the face.

The first Hayes brother cried out in pain and surprise, a hand coming up to cover what George hoped was a broken nose. The second turned to see what the noise was about, spotted George, and immediately began to advance, hands curled into fists. 

Sapnap got there first. He charged at him and struck him twice in the middle of his chest hard enough to send the man gasping for breath. Fundy came up on his other side and shoved him, getting him to tumble to the ground.

Meanwhile, George had to deal with Idiot No. 1, who wasn’t all that pleased with the fact that George had bashed in his nose. Hayes threw wild, bloody-knuckled punches, fueled by anger. George maintained his focus and sidestepped all of them, his archer’s eye carefully monitoring the direction of Hayes’ movements. George put some distance between them in the hopes that it would frustrate Hayes enough to charge.

It did. Face red and growling low, Hayes charged at George like a bull. 

_ Perfect. _

George braced himself for the impact, tensing his legs and leaning in. As Hayes drew near, George lifted a hand and put it right where the man’s shoulder would be in order to control the direction of his charge. With good enough timing and balance, he was able to slow the man, then guide his head downward and under his left armpit. He wrapped his arm around the man’s thick neck and clamped tight, held in place by his other hand on his left fist. 

Hayes had charged at him, and George had put him right where he wanted: a chokehold. 

The man struggled and raged, clawing desperately at George’s arms. His dirty fingernails tore into the bandage wrapped around George’s recovering wound, but George paid it no heed. Instead, he concentrated on maintaining his clamp around the man’s throat, counting the seconds:  _ One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand… _

In a proper chokehold, a person would lose consciousness after about six seconds. However, George decided he didn’t want to have  _ too  _ horrible of an assault charge on his record, so he mercifully released Hayes at the count of five. Though, those five seconds were enough so that Hayes fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath as the blood flow to his head was restored. George took a few steps back and let the man gather himself. It wasn’t long before his brother came running to his side. The first Hayes brother was hauled to his feet, and he and his companion fled the alley. 

“Yeah, get outta here!” Sapnap shouted at them, he and Fundy chasing the men out of the alley. “Go on!  _ Get _ !” 

George watched them go, making a mental note to report the Hayes brothers sometime that day. 

The archer turned around to find Dream was where he’d seen him last. He was still leaned up against the wall. While one hand rested on the hilt of his dagger, his other wiped at his lip. He inspected the blood on his fingertips, and though it was hard to tell due to the mask covering most of his features, Dream seemed more annoyed than anything. 

George approached him, and Dream looked up. “Oh,” said the wanderer, still slightly out of breath. “You again.”

“Yup.” George folded his arms and gave Dream an odd look. “You know, when I said, ‘See you around,’ this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“To be honest, me neither.”

“George!”

The archer turned to find Sapnap and Fundy approaching. They came to stand on either side of him, addressing Dream with confused expressions. 

Fundy jutted his chin at the wanderer. “Do you know him?”

Sapnap squinted. “Hold up. Is this that ‘Dream’ guy you were talking about last night?”

Fundy’s head swiveled to stare at George. “Wait, he’s an actual person? I thought Skeppy was just delirious when he kept on talking about how he met someone named ‘Dream’.”

“Uh, ‘Dream’ would like to know who you people are,” interrupted the man in question, straightening himself out with an exhale of breath. 

“These are a couple of my other friends, Sapnap and Fundy,” George explained. “Guys, this is Dream, the man Bad and I ran into down in the caves yesterday - or I guess you already knew that.”

Dream nodded at them. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” answered Sapnap, but by the suspicion in his eyes, George had a feeling that the sentiment was not shared in the slightest. 

Fundy appeared to be a little wary as well, though his words were more tainted with curiosity than hostility when he inquired, “Why were those men attacking you?”

Dream shrugged helplessly. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I was just heading for the market to pick up some materials I was low on, and I noticed I was being followed. I ducked in here thinking I could try to lose them in the backstreets but…” He gestured down the alley. “Dead end.”

“Right,” said Sapnap flatly. 

Dream frowned. “It’s my understanding that Northwick doesn’t take too kindly to newcomers.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I’d think it’s safe to say that’s why those men jumped me… They’re suspicious of me.”

Sapnap raised an eyebrow. “Is that so.”

George could see where this was going, and it wasn’t anywhere pretty. “It’s a good thing we were around, then,” he interrupted, inching a half step in front of Sapnap.

“Yeah,” agreed Dream, slowly wiping the blood on his glove with his sleeve. “A really good thing…”

George nodded at him. “You know, we’re even now.”

Dream cocked his head to the side like he tended to do. “Even?” he parroted, a note of amusement in his voice. 

“Yeah. You save me from cave spiders, I save you from alleyway asshats. We’re even.”

Dream scoffed. “I could hardly call that even. I nearly had them.”

“Uh-huh. Was getting cornered part of ‘having them’?”

“Yup. All part of the plan.”

“If you can take out a swarm of cave spiders,” said Fundy, “how come you can’t handle a few dumbasses with fists?”

“I can kill a cave spider, but I can’t exactly kill a person,” Dream replied matter-of-factly, drumming his fingers against the hilt of his dagger. He left his spot by the wall to go scoop up his bag, which had been tossed aside sometime during the fight. “No need to give them or anyone else another reason to hate me, right?”

The three of them exchanged a look -  _ “Did he really just say that, or…?” _

Dream hefted his bag onto his shoulder. “Well!” he remarked sharply. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but I’ve got things to do, and I’m sure you do too. I won’t keep you any longer.” He nodded at them. “Thanks for saving my ass back there, and George?” He smirked. “...I’d say we’re halfway even.”

George huffed out a laugh. “Oh, what the hell. I’ll take it.”

Dream’s head tilted to the side (God, he really seemed to do that a lot) as he appeared to consider something. “You know...assuming I don’t get jumped again, I think I’m going to stay in town for another night. Maybe you’ll get a chance to make it fully even tomorrow.”

“Well, we’re not going to be in town for very long tomorrow,” Fundy remarked idly. “We’re leaving after dawn patrol.”

“Oh, really?” said Dream, the surprise in his voice clear as day. “Where you headed?”

“We’re off to fix the bullshit in the world,” Sapnap announced, smirking with pride. “We’re going to end the Aggression  _ ourselves _ .”

“...Seriously?” His tone was somewhere between amazed and disbelieving, though he didn’t sound condescending like most people did when told of their plans. 

George nodded. “You know the tales of the Ender Dragon, right?”

“You mean those bedtime stories your mom would tell you to get you to go to sleep?” Dream recalled with a lopsided grin. “Yeah, I know ‘em.”

“They’re not bedtime stories,” corrected Fundy, bristling slightly. “The Legends of Old are retellings of Othana’s history, folded and compressed into neat little packages for our entertainment. Regardless of how much they have been bastardized over the generations, they are still, at their foundations, true.”

Dream held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend. I’m aware that some of the stories are true. It’s just that not a whole lot of people believe in them too. I’m actually trying to get more information on them - you know, sort the myths from the facts, find out which stories I can believe and which ones have been made up.” He chuckled with disbelief, a hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. “T-to think that the story about the Ender Dragon is  _ actually  _ one of the true ones… It is, right? That's what you're saying?”

“It is,” Fundy confirmed, nodding.

“So that means that the story of the First Aggression is - ?”

“Also true, yes.”

“And that would mean, to stop the Aggression - the one happening right now - you would have to - ”

“Slay the Dragon.”

That gave Dream pause. “Sorry, ‘slay’? The stories I remember say that they trapped the Ender Dragon in the Void using magic - or is the magic another myth?”

“No, the magic is true,” Fundy confirmed.

Dream stared at them. “...So you’re going to try to  _ kill _ it?” 

Once again, George found that he did not sound condescending. If anything, he sounded intrigued, excited -  _ eager _ ... Where was Dream going with this?

“Yuh-huh,” said Sapnap. “We’re going to do it right this time. No more Aggressions, no more agro endermen, everything back to the way it should be.”

“You’d best remember our names,” said Fundy, grinning. “We’ll be legends one day.”

Dream considered this for a long time. Though the mask made it impossible to see his eyes, George could feel the wanderer’s gaze sweeping over them.

After a pause, Dream reached up, carefully adjusted his mask, and spoke.

“I want in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOP WHOOP EVERYONE ABOARD THE PLOT TRAIN, IT IS OFFICIALLY LEAVING THE STATION! 
> 
> In all seriousness, I'm so excited for the next chapter because we finally get to see the dynamic between the characters when we've got them all in the same room. Let me know what you think!


	5. Clenched Fists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!

“I’m sorry, you  _ what _ ?”

To say that Bad was surprised was an understatement. George didn’t think he’d ever seen the swordsman so baffled, sitting across from Dream in his and Skeppy’s living room as everyone else looked on. The only other occasion Bad might’ve looked quite as confused was the time Skeppy tried to explain to him the benefits of outfitting his sword with redstone dispensers. 

“This ‘quest’ you guys are going on,” repeated Dream, “you know, the one to kill the Ender Dragon? I want in. I want to join you guys.”

“N-no no, I got that,” Bad assured him, rubbing at his forehead, “I’m just wondering  _ why _ .”

“Yeah man,” said Sapnap. He folded his arms and looked down at Dream from where he stood to Bad’s left. “Why would you want to come with us? You barely know us - we barely know  _ you _ !”

“Just because I’m not a close friend doesn’t mean I couldn’t travel with you guys,” Dream answered evenly. “There isn’t a reason to make any of this personal. Think of it as…‘hiring’ me, in a way.”

“But what exactly would we ‘hire’ you for?” Fundy questioned. “I don’t know if you recall, but we’re about to set out tomorrow. We already have everything we need, ready to go. If anything, allowing you to join us would be a hindrance.”

“I doubt that.”

“Then what do you think you’ll bring to the team?” asked Bad. 

“Navigation.”

“Navigation?”

“Dude, we already have a map,” said Skeppy, holding up the rolled parchment in question. “You really think we were gonna go through with this without knowing exactly where we were heading?”

“No, but is that map  _ recent _ ?” Dream questioned.

“It’s as recent as a map can be,” Bad told him.

Dream patted the space on the coffee table in front of him. “Let me see it, then.”

Skeppy hopped off the arm of Bad’s chair and carefully rolled out the map. George and Bad were quick to help in placing empty mugs over the corners to hold it down flat.

Dream inspected the charts, tilting his head this way and that. He traced a finger over the lines that had been drawn in to plot their path and observed the notes written on the little papers pinned to the sides. He then rolled up his sleeve and took a look at his Screen, comparing the coordinates marked out on the map to something on his device. George craned his neck to look over Dream’s shoulder, only to see him scrolling through a long list of coords, each one with unknown abbreviations typed beside them.

A minute later, Dream rolled his sleeve down and folded his hands in his lap. “This won’t work. You’re not going to make it with the course that you’ve plotted.”

Bad sputtered. “Wh - ?  _ How _ ?  _ Why _ ? We spent days planning this out, there’s nothing wrong here.”

“It’s an old map,” Dream stated simply. “The terrain of Othana has been constantly changing ever since the Aggression hit. This would have worked maybe...three weeks ago? Four? I’m leaning towards four.”

“And why’s that?” prodded Sapnap, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, off the top of my head…” Dream pointed to their stops on the map. “I passed by Tebel less than two weeks ago, and there was nothing but ruins there. The endermen had decimated that place probably just a couple days before. Rella - assuming it’s still standing - isn’t accepting outsiders since its settlements Ogdo and Paddenn were given away by some psychopaths looking to attract the endermen’s attention. They went up in flames about three weeks ago. Also, there have been a lot of endermen sightings around Nearon - loads of dawn drifters.”

“Dawn drifters?” echoed Skeppy.

“Yeah, that’s what I call endermen who hang around after sunrise.”

Bad pressed his hands together and held them down the middle of his face. He closed his eyes and heaved a long sigh. “Is there anything else we should know about?”

“Oh, sure.”

Bad groaned.

“Just a second.” Dream leaned over the side of his chair and dragged his bag over to his feet. Undoing the rusted buckles, he reached in and pulled out a notebook that looked about ready to burst at the bindings. He set it down on the table beside the map. Then, he began to finger carefully through the pages, murmuring the names of the tags that stuck out the sides. Soon, he muttered a triumphant, “Ah- _ hah _ !” and opened the book to a specific page. It looked to be just a bunch of crumpled papers - but then he began to  _ unfold  _ them.

In a few seconds, the overstuffed notebook had provided a map of Northern Othana just about as big as their own. There were notes scrawled into nearly every margin and coordinates written above every major location. Colored chalks had been used to mark out certain trails, landmarks, and regions. Some of the notes were old and smudged - and they had obviously been written several times over while - others were new, probably just a day or two old.

“Wow,” Skeppy remarked for the rest of them.

Dream looked up with a smirk. “Yeah. I get around.” He took a charcoal pencil out of his bag and used the back end to point between the two maps. “Right, so, you’re trying to get to Zero Town.”

“Zero Town?” echoed Sapnap.

“Golestiera,” Bad translated. “‘Zero Town’ is the colloquial name for it since the zero-zero coordinate is found in the center of the city.”

“Golestiera, that’s what I meant,” Dream agreed.

“You’re not going to tell us that Golestiera is gone too,” George said, only half joking.

“No, as far as I know, Golestiera is still standing.”

“It is,” Skeppy stated. “Bad n’ I have a contact who lives there. Their server towers are still operational, so he’s been keeping us updated.” He lifted his arm to display his Screen and tap it demonstratively.

“Right, so, again - you’re trying to get to Zero Town. The problem is that you’re taking the Main Road - ” he tapped at their map with his pencil - “which has been pretty much entirely overtaken by the Mid-Eastern Endomain.”

“Hold up,” said Geroge, “did you say ‘Endomain’? As in ‘Enderman Domain’? Those  _ exist _ ?” 

“They do now,” replied Dream. “They usually pop up around heavily populated areas for, well, obvious reasons.” He brought his pencil over to his own map. “This entire area I’ve outlined in purple is the approximate borders of the Mid-Eastern Endomain, and as you can see, it starts about half a day’s walk from Northwick and follows the eastern curve of the Main Road almost all the way down to Zero Town - last I checked on it, anyway.

“Endomains are traversable, but you definitely want to stay away from them if you can. They’re pretty horrible. Your chances of running into dawn or even  _ dusk _ drifters are very high - I’ve seen endermen in the middle of the day before - and there are entire regions within the Endomain that’ve been completely gutted of anything living; I call them ‘dead ends’. The dead ends themselves are safe, since there’s nothing there to warrant an enderman wanting to check it out, but it’s just...it’s hard to look at.” 

He shook his head sadly. “You do  _ not _ want to travel through the heart of an Endomain for more than a day.”

“Okay,” Bad sighed, trying his hardest not to appear overwhelmed, “what do you suggest, then?”

“During my travels, I’ve discovered various backcountry routes that stay to the western forests and plains rather than curving east like the Main Road does. With a bit of planning, I could use what I’ve got to plot out a new course that’ll cut down on your travel time and  _ won’t  _ take you through enderman central for several days straight.”

Dream leaned back in his armchair. “What I’m saying is that I can get you to Zero Town both efficiently _and_ _alive_.”

There was a pause as that sank in, though the silence didn’t last long: “How do we know we can trust this?” asked Fundy, gesturing to Dream’s map.

_ “And how do we know we can trust  _ **_you_ ** _?”  _ is what went unspoken.

Despite the fact that Fundy didn’t voice this concern, Dream definitely picked up on it. He fiddled with his mask for a second, then replied slowly, “Before the Aggression struck, I was an explorer. I was sent out on expeditions to search for new, faster, and safer routes between towns, or look for decent places for new settlements, or go fetch a treasure or artifact for some high-standing family. I would record my findings, draw up map drafts, and send my notes to cartographers and historians to publish into authentic guides.”

He tapped his map. “I am a professional,” he stated. “This is what I do. If you can’t trust me, then trust the maps.”

“Maps that were made by you,” Sapnap pointed out. 

“What use would I have for a wrong map?”

“You could be trying to trick us.”

Dream scoffed. “Trick you?  _ Really _ ? Why would I do that? Why would I waste my time trying to give you an incorrect map?”

“I dunno, man!” Sapnap exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I don’t know you! We literally just met half an hour ago!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Look, we’re planning to do something that even heroes of the Legends couldn’t properly pull off,” explained Sapnap, frowning, “and I don’t know a damn thing about you or what the hell you want from this. To me, you just sound like a sketchy nobody with even sketchier alliances...” His face twisted into a snarl. “A glorified hobo who wants to mooch fame off our victory.”

Dream stood abruptly. “First of all, village boy, I am not a mere vagabond, I am a goddamn  _ trailblazer _ . Second of all, I can assure you that my desire to see that overgrown lizard put six feet under is just as strong as yours.”

“Oh yeah?” challenged Sapnap, stepping forward. “And why is  _ that _ ?”

“Sapnap,” Bad warned, standing and holding up a hand.

Sapnap ignored him. “Why, man? What’s your fuckin’ sob story?”

Half an angry breath rushed out of Dream, jaw tight as his hands balled into fists. “It’s none of your damn business what my motives are.”

“Uh, I think the fuck they are. I’m not letting any psychopaths near my friends.”

“Guys - ” George tried, but he was cut off by Dream’s snarling reply: “Oh,  _ you’re _ one to talk.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, bitch boy.”

Rage shot through Sapnap’s expression, and he surged forward, shoving past George and snatching the collar of Dream’s coat to draw him in. “You fuckin’ - !”

“SAPNAP!” Bad roared, stepping between them and separating Sapnap from Dream with a hard hand to the smith’s chest. “THAT IS  _ ENOUGH _ !”

Silence rang through the apartment; nobody moved.

When Bad was angry - truly, genuinely angry - he never yelled. He never raised his voice. He refused to speak over a stern tone. George had asked him once why that was, and Bad had replied,  _ “Shouting solves nothing. All it does is hurt. I don’t like who I become when I start yelling at someone.” _

Because that was the thing. When Bad was angry - truly, genuinely angry - he wasn’t just mad. He was  _ furious _ .

Bad whirled around and pointed a finger in Sapnap’s face. “ _ YOU  _ need to calm down and watch your mouth. Dream is over here trying to help us, and you’re  _ interrogating  _ him!”

“But I - ”

“ _ NO. _ Your actions are  _ not _ justifiable. There is no reason for you to be attacking him.”

Bad’s voice started in a growl and quickly rose. “I am ashamed to think that a friend of mine would believe that instigating a good-willed man and then trying to  _ assault _ him is a good use of his energy, so everyone here needs to SHUT UP because I  _ SWEAR _ I - ”

“Bad.”

At Skeppy’s voice, Bad fell quiet. George saw the captain’s eyes flicker over to Skeppy, who wore a...complicated expression. There was a level of sincerity on his face that was not typical for him.

In the instant that Bad and Skeppy were looking at each other, an entire conversation seemed to take place. Bad then returned his attention to Sapnap. He let his hand drop and took a step back, much of the harshness of his features melting away, though some agitation still wrinkled his brow. 

Bad drew in a breath. “Sorry,” he exhaled. “Pointless arguments frustrate me.” He turned to Dream. “I, personally, would like to have you travel with us. Your expertise and knowledge of the condition of the land would be greatly appreciated. However, I think my friends and I need to talk it over before we can come to a conclusion.”

Dream nodded slowly. “I understand. And...I shouldn’t have yelled. That was stupid of me.”

“Things have a tendency to get out of hand sometimes,” Bad replied understandingly. “That’s just how life works.” He paused briefly to look down at the maps, then continued, “When would you like to know our answer?”

“As soon as possible, but no later than 4:30. I’ll need a few hours to properly plot a course, or at least the start of one. I’m assuming you’re traveling by foot?”

“No, we have horses.”

“Horses,” echoed Dream with a bob of his head. “Good to know.” He turned to the coffee table and swiftly packed up his notebook map. “I don’t have a horse of my own, but I do carry my own supplies, so there’s no need to coordinate that.”

“Right, okay,” said Bad. “We’ll work out the details as we go. Where are you staying?”

“Pella Inn, north of the square.”

“Got it. Someone will let you know what our decision is before 4:30.”

Dream nodded once again. With all of his things put back into his bag, he told them, “Thanks for your consideration,” and departed.

Once he was gone, Bad turned back to the group. “So. We need to talk.”

  
  
  
  


So talk they did. A lot, actually. They discussed the matter for about an hour, and by the end of the hour, the final votes in the group were cast with Skeppy and Bad being on board with the idea of letting Dream on the team, Sapnap being extremely uncertain, and Fundy ultimately choosing to be indifferent. Because Sapnap was still so hesitant, it was decided that a majority had to be wholly in favor in order for Dream to be allowed on.

That meant George’s opinion was the final say.

George… Well, if he was being honest, he had been on the fence for a little while. Dream’s skills when it came to navigation would be direly needed for the trip, but Sapnap, to some extent, was right. George didn’t  _ know _ Dream like he knew the others. This quest of theirs was important and could go south in so,  _ so _ many ways. They couldn’t risk failure, and if by the smallest of chances that Dream really did have malignant intentions, or was as unreliable as Sapnap made him out to be, then…

No. Dream  _ couldn’t _ be. George had seen his reliability first-hand, witnessed his strength and desire to help and protect. Sapnap might not have had the chance to experience that, but George had.

Dream had secrets - of that much, George was certain - but George also knew that he had the potential to be relied upon.

In the long run, did it really matter if George knew exactly who Dream was? Did knowing what he was doing, or where he was from, or what he looked like, or why he was the way he was, or why he wanted to join them  _ really  _ change anything about this quest of theirs?

_ No,  _ George decided.  _ No, it doesn’t. _

So, with George in favor of Dream being added to the team, the decision was officially on the table. Most issues about having a sudden new addition to the team had already been discussed, but just in case anyone thought of anything else, Skeppy suggested that they all go home and just  _ think  _ about it. Fundy headed back to his family’s joint home and potion shop, and George and Sapnap made their way back to their apartment.

Ever since Bad chewed him out, Sapnap had been quiet. Surprisingly, he hadn’t really contributed much to the post-argument discussion, only butting in on occasion to express his concern. Other than that, silence.

Sapnap made a beeline for the bedroom when they got back. George watched him go, then took his time locking the door behind him, shrugging off and hanging up his coat, and slipping off his boots. He lingered in the foyer for a moment longer before finally heading into the bedroom himself.

George found Sapnap laying flat on his back on the lower bunk, his boots still on and a pillow pressed into his face. George stared at him for half a second, then heaved a quiet sigh and crossed the room. He plopped himself down on the floor by the head of the bed, back resting on the boards of the bed frame. He hiked up his knees so he could rest his arms on them.

“So,” he began, tapping his fingers on his trousers, “you wanna talk about what all  _ that  _ was about?”

“ _ ‘Eff m’oph ‘ufephh _ ,” said Sapnap.

“Wh-what?” George chuckled.

Sapnap pulled the pillow away from his face with a sigh, letting it drop down onto his stomach. “It’s so stupid,” he repeated. “ _ That _ was stupid. I was stupid, George.”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed.   
  


“It’s just - ...Dream rubs me the wrong way.”

“Because he didn’t want to tell you personal information?”

“Because he’s  _ hiding  _ something. Did you see the way he immediately clammed up when I asked him why he wanted to join us?”

“Sapnap, you weren’t asking him,” said George, turning his head to look at his friend out of the corner of his eye. “You were attacking him. You accused him of trying to trick us - on literally no grounds, might I add - you called him unreliable and a liar, and then you asked him what his, and I quote, ‘fucking motives are’. Of course he’s gonna clamp up.”

“It’s not my fault he seems sketchy as fuck.”

“ _ Sapnap _ .”

“Okay, yes, yelling at him was stupid, I know, I know.” Sapnap sighed. “My point still stands, though. I’m not too sure about him. He doesn’t… He’s not normal. Something’s off about him. Personally, I’m not too sure about him being with our group. We’ve got a system in place; we all know each other, we know how we all think and act. We can work together like a well-oiled machine. But Dream? We don’t know him. We don’t know how he thinks.”

“So we learn,” George replied. “We don’t have to treat him like a stranger. We can get to know him, if he’s willing.”

“ _ Is _ he willing, though?”

“There’s really only one way to find out, and you  _ know _ what that is.” 

Sapnap didn’t reply; George heaved a tired breath. “Just try to give him a chance. As much as you want to deny it, we  _ do _ need him. We’re clearly not going to make it to Golestiera on our own. Even if we already knew that the Main Road wasn’t an option, none of us are good enough at navigating to go off-trail, not to mention that we’re not always going to be able to get coords from our Screens, what with all the other villages’ server towers being down. If we tried to do it on our own, we’d probably end up lost. And dead.”

Sapnap made a frustrated sound. “Yeah, I know that, I… It feels weird to me to just...let some random guy on our team. I’ve gotta know he’s gonna have my back like you guys would, or that he’s not gonna flake out or try anything with us.” He paused again, looking for words. “I think that’s just how I am, George. You might be cool with not knowing, but I’m  _ not _ . I have to be sure that I can trust him, and I...I-I can’t right now.”

George turned around to see that Sapnap was still laying on his back, arms folded over his chest, hardened eyes steadily on the bunk above him. But he could also see Sapnap’s hands clenching and unclenching - something that George had learned over the years meant that Sapnap was genuinely uncomfortable.

George stood up and nudged Sapnap’s leg. Without needing to say anything, Sapnap knew what George intended to do, and he scooted over to the side so George could occupy the space beside him. The archer laid down, head on Sapnap’s pillow and arm pressed against Sapnap’s own. Together, they stared at the underside of the upper bunk, their adjacent feet idly pushing back and forth on each other.

A few minutes passed, and George felt it was okay to say one last thing. “If you can’t trust him,” he murmured, “then at least trust my judgement. You know me well; if there was any reason for me to think that he was an actual threat, I would’ve been right next to you shouting at him. I care about what we’ve got too, but we  _ need _ a navigator. We’re just a bunch of guys who’ve been stuck in the same village for the past six months. We can’t do this on our own.”

Sapnap didn’t respond right away; George didn’t expect him to. He could practically hear the thoughts rumbling around in his friend’s head, the angry little tempest of frustration and concern and hatred and caring and suspicion and loyalty that made Sapnap who he was. It was a mess of a storm where words were sharp and unforgiving and clenched fists could mean a thousand different things. But, God, to have that unyielding dedication and love at his side? George wouldn’t trade him for the world.

George heard Sapnap draw in a long, hesitant breath. “I don’t like it,” he exhaled at last.

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever like it...like _him_.” 

George glanced off to the side. “I understand.”

“...But I’ll allow it. For now.”

They lapsed into silence, George not feeling the need to express his gratitude. The world had been a strange, unfamiliar place since springtime and now autumn was well underway. It felt like it had been years since the last time he and Sapnap were able to just...hang out. So instead of filling the air around them with meaningless words, they took a moment to simply lie side by side and exist with each other. 

It was the most peace George had been able to achieve since Bad approached them with the plan.

George must have dozed off at some point, because before he knew it, the vibration of his Screen on his arm was pulling him back from wherever his head had drifted away to. He rubbed his eyes and prodded at his device. Sapnap did the same.

  
  


**_CHATROOM:_ ** _ The Gang’s All Here _

_ <Skeppy> so _

_ <Skeppy> anyone got objections? _

_ <BadBoyHalo> i don’t _

_ <Skeppy> i know you don’t Bad _

_ <Skeppy> i was asking the others _

_ <BadBoyHalo> well ExCuSe mE for wanting to be clear _

_ <ItsFundy> the only real problem we could think of was transportation but we’re already planning on using double saddles _

_ <ItsFundy> so no, i can’t think of good reason why Dream shouldn’t come _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> no complaints here _

_ <BadBoyHalo> Sapnap? _

_ <Sapnap> no comment _

_ <BadBoyHalo> /Sapnap/ _

_ <Sapnap> alright, alright _

_ <Sapnap> yeah, he can come _

_ <Skeppy> great _

_ <Skeppy> so who’s gonna go tell him? _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> i’ll go _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> i have to pick up more arrows anyway _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> used way too many this morning _

_ <ItsFundy> don’t want to set out under armed? _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> hell no _

_ <BadBoyHalo> LANGUAGE _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> Pella Inn right? _

_ <Skeppy> that’s what he said _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> ok _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> i’ll let you guys know how it goes _

_ <Skeppy> don’t die lmao _

George dimmed his Screen and stood, stretching. “Guess I’m off,” he told Sapnap, adjusting the forge goggles atop his head. “Do you need me to pick anything up while I’m out?”

“Nah,” said Sapnap. He rubbed his eyes with a sigh - he must have dozed off as well. “We have everything we need...I think.” He sat up. “I’m...gonna go check, actually. Better safe than sorry.”

“Agreed.” George headed for the door. “See ya.”

  
  
  


It was about 3:30 when George found himself at the inn with a freshly-bought bundle of arrows tucked under his arm. He went to the counter at the back of the lobby and asked Mister Pella for the room number of a man who went by ‘Dream’, only to find he was staying up on the second floor. George headed up, taking the stairs two at a time, and before he knew it, he was at Dream’s quarters.

George felt a little stupid.  _ So do I just knock, or…? _

He rapped his knuckles on the door and waited.

A few seconds passed. Then, there was the click of a lock, and the hinges creaked, revealing a familiar pale grin.

For the first time since George had met Dream, the wanderer was not donning his heavy evergreen coat. All he wore was a simple black undershirt with long sleeves and a high-reaching collar and a pair of plain trousers. The mask was still present, of course, but with no hood pulled up, George could see his hair. He’d caught glimpses of light brown, but in full illumination, it looked more like a dirty blond. Additionally, there was no shadow cast over his face, so the finer details that were not hidden by the mask could be seen: a dusting of freckles across his cheeks, a small blemish or scar here or there to serve as a reminder of his travels.

What was most prominent, however, was the scarf. No, not the one draped around his shoulders, but the one he had tied around his head. It was at an odd angle so that it came diagonal across his forehead - or across the right side of his face. It was hard to say with the mask in the way.

“George,” Dream greeted him lightly upon arrival, pulling the archer’s attention back to the present. “You come here to tell me what your guys’ decision was?”

“Yeah,” said George. “Uh, congrats! You’re in!”

He mentally face-palmed.  _ ‘Congrats, you’re in’? Really? That’s the best you could come up with? _

If Dream found it awkward, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he gave a small, breathy laugh and replied, “Great! Happy to hear it. I’ll plot out a starting course tonight. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours. I’m not sure how fast you guys want to move, so I’ll leave room for adjustments. Bad said you’re taking horses, right?”

“Yes, we are, so no, like, treacherous mountain paths, or sheer cliffs, or anything of the sort.”

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” Dream cocked his head to the side in a certain way, and George got the impression he was winking. “I’ll keep that in mind. Where are you guys meeting tomorrow?”

“The stable near the southern gates, over where we walked in yesterday. We’re meeting up at nine to head out before nine thirty, so if you have any last-minute supplies you need to grab, I’d suggest you do it today.”

“I think I have everything I need, but it doesn’t hurt to double check.”

“Alright,” said George, adjusting the bundle tucked under his arm. “I think that’s it, then.” He had a thought. “Actually…”

“Yeah?” prompted Dream when George hesitated.

George tugged at his crimson scarf. “I wanted to say this sooner, but uh, sorry for...kind of bombarding you with questions yesterday. That was a bit uncalled for. You’re just so…” He gestured vaguely, not entirely sure how he planned to finish that sentence.

Dream saw him floundering for words and smirked. “Mysterious? Fascinating? Unique?”

George scoffed. “‘Weird’ was the word I was looking for.”

Dream folded his arms and leaned on the doorjamb. “Better than boring, I’d say. But…” He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I get it. I’m well aware I don’t fit in. Everyone’s got masks, but there’s not a whole lot who walk around with them in broad daylight.” He tapped the side of his pale grin. “I’ve got my reasons. I can’t exactly blame you for being curious...or suspicious.”

Dream tilted his head to the side so it rested on the doorjamb as well. “...You’re a good guy, George,” he told him after a brief pause. “I’m excited to set out with you and your friends tomorrow. Who knows?” He gave a sideways smile. “We might actually pull this off.”

“That’s the hope,” George said. “The Dragon is going  _ down _ .”

Dream’s smile grew a little more true. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

Dream gave him one last nod before retreating into his room, gently closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream: *breathes*
> 
> Sapnap: "What was that? The fuck did you say to me?? You wanna go?? You wanna fUCKING GO-"
> 
> I'm sorry if Sapnap sounds stupid in this chapter lol. Writing arguments/insults is definitely not my strong suit, as I myself am pretty non-confrontational. Why can't everyone just get along? Is that so hard??
> 
> Anyway, there's the dynamic. Get used to it, because we're in for a long ride.
> 
> Love ya'll, thanks for all the kind comments, they really make my day! <3


	6. Fateful Morning

Three hours before blackout found Geroge at the archery range on the southeast side of town. He wasn’t alone, there being a handful of other archers also getting some practice in. To give himself a little space to work, he walked all the way down to the farthest side of the field, closest to the woods. 

Once he was content with the distance, he strapped on his arm guard and pulled on his leather gloves. He had often been told that a proper finger tab fitted to his draw hand would do him more good, but he had been adamant about his refusal to use a tab almost since day one. He wasn’t always going to have the time to find and put on a finger tab, but he wore his gloves often enough. Even then, he occasionally practiced with his bare hands: extremely uncomfortable and was known to lead to lasting injury, but entirely necessary in an emergency.

He settled for some gloves today. No reason to over-complicate things.

With his gear on, he stretched out his arms, warming the muscles in his shoulders. Then he reached behind him to take out his bow.

Well, not ‘his’ bow. His  _ mother’s _ bow. The Darkwood Bow.

George rarely ever used - ever  _ touched _ \- the Darkwood Bow. He only ever took it down to clean it and briefly test it with a shot or two, just to make sure that nothing was wrong. Then, it went back on his bedroom wall, where it had spent most of its days for the past eleven years. 

He did not use it because it did not belong to him. His mother didn’t have a last will and testament when she died, so she could not legally leave it in his possession; she wasn’t with George when she died, so she could not formally pass it down to him. According to tradition, weapons of distinguished Wickan guardsmen were automatically given to the guardsman’s spouse or parents upon their death (unless stated otherwise in legal documentation), but George was neither. As a result, Lieutenant Eleanor Darkwood’s bow almost ended up put in a display case in the town hall, never to be touched again.

But the standing general at the time had put his foot down and fought with the council to forget tradition and hand the Darkwood Bow over to George. There were plenty of objections, councilmen arguing that a thirteen-year-old boy did not know how to care for a bow, nor had he earned the right to carry the weapon of a lieutenant of the Wickan Guard.

_ “So he will learn,”  _ the general had replied,  _ “and he will fight. This world has already taken enough from him; do not take this from him as well.” _

Thus, the Bow ended up on his bedroom wall, awaiting the day George was worthy of its might.

It really was a reliable weapon. It was older than himself and had outlived his mother. It had witnessed far more peace and bloodshed than George could ever hope or dread to face. It was, by definition, the instrument of a warrior.

Despite the fact that George had yet to achieve a high enough status both in worth and in the Wicken Guard to properly bear the Darkwood Bow, something about it had called to him when he got back to the apartment that afternoon. Perhaps it wanted - if you could say that a bow could ‘want’ - him to take it with him on his journey to The End. It felt wrong to leave such a masterpiece hanging on the wall when he was on his way to write himself into Othana’s history books. Besides, bringing it with him and using it to slay the Ender Dragon would be a way of honoring his mother’s strength, wouldn’t it?

So he was bringing the Darkwood Bow with him.

Admittedly, the first thing George had to do upon testing the bow’s set up was loosen it so its draw weight was less - something he hadn’t bothered with when doing maintenance on it in the past because he never intended to fire it more than a couple times. Unsurprisingly, his mother had been stronger than him. She might’ve found the new draw weight laughably easy to pull back, but George found it to be the perfect stiffness, if a little more on the tighter side. Additionally, the Bow itself was just a touch too big for him, but he could work with it. It would just take a little while to get used to.

With all other adjustments out of the way, he quit stalling and nocked an arrow. He held it at his waist, found his target 60 meters down the field, drew back, aimed, and released.

The arrow sang through the air, clear and true, and landed a bit to the left of his goal, the center target.

George was ambidextrous, though he occasionally favored his left hand over his right. He alternated between two opposite handed bows to keep himself from becoming too reliant on his left. Though, when he went into competition, he almost always used a left handed bow.

His mother was right handed. 

George briefly entertained the idea that if he really wanted to bring the Darkwood Bow with him, he probably should’ve started practice with it a bit sooner than, oh,  _ the literal night before _ , but he shook off the doubt before it could sink its teeth into him. Instead of fretting, he simply nocked another arrow and fired again.

And again.

And again.

He fired arrows down the field until his quiver was empty. Then he jogged over to the targets he was using (multiple, as the center of the first one had become too crowded after so many shots), reclaimed his arrows, jogged back, and started all over again.

Nock, draw, aim, release: a familiar and comforting pattern.

He started to get attention from the others at the archery range. He was well aware that they knew who he was, knew the bow he was using, and knew what he would be doing shortly before nine thirty the following morning.

With himself being one of the region’s best archers, Sapnap being a frequent volunteer fighter, and Bad being a literal  _ captain _ of the Wickan Guard, they weren’t able to just get up and leave unannounced. They had to go to the council of Northwick to have their trip approved and perhaps persuade the councillors to offer supplies to their group.

When the five of them gathered before the council the first time and proposed their plan, the council had laughed. Actually, genuinely laughed. The leaders had criticized their childishness, and the other soldiers and officers of the Guard had berated Bad and George for their willingness to leave Northwick in its time of need. Really, if it hadn’t been for Fundy coming forward with the evidence to confirm that the Legends of the Ender Dragon were true and ending the Aggression was a possible task, then their plans would’ve never been approved, let alone  _ considered _ .

Two days of deliberation followed. On the morning of the third day, Mayor Sparklez called the five of them back to the town hall and formally granted them his blessing. 

That didn’t stop many of the people of Northwick from regarding the plan as a fool’s errand. Most of the captains had little faith in them as well. They wholly expected Bad, Skeppy, Fundy, Sapnap, and George to walk out those city gates the next morning and never return. As far as they were concerned, the group would die to the serrated claws of an enderman horde before they’d made it a full twenty-four hours into their travels.

George’s eyes were drifting to the onlookers, which took his mind off his shots and lowered his accuracy. With a bit more force than what was necessary, he nocked another arrow and threw his attention back to the targets on the other end of the field.

The moment he was comfortable with the Darkwood Bow, he ended his practice and went to gather his arrows. Today was supposed to be their rest day, after all, and he would hate to have to set out the next morning with sore shoulders.

On his way back home, he ran into Bad and Fundy, who were walking slowly through the quiet marketplace, hunched over one of Fundy’s notebooks.

“Hey,” George greeted them, jogging over. “How’d it go? What did they say?”

Bad and Fundy frowned at each other. “There was plenty that was discussed tonight, but the short of it is that the council doesn’t want to spend any more resources on our plan,” said the scholar.

“So we’re not getting an extra horse,” George summarized.

“No, we’re not getting an extra horse.”

“It was a longshot, to be fair,” said Bad. “Endermen have been picking off work animals and livestock for months now.”

“And as far as they’re concerned, we’re never coming back,” Fundy added darkly.

“It’s not a problem, though,” assured Bad, tapping Fundy’s notebook. “We have four horses, and each of them has a two-person saddle. Skeppy and I were already planning on riding together, so we’ll just have two more people double up. Easy fix.”

“It’ll be a heavier load on the horses overall,” George pointed out. “I guess we’ll be doing a little more walking than we originally thought.”

“We knew that the travel would be hard going into this. A little walking never killed anyone.”

“We’ll have to figure out who’s pairing with who,” said Fundy.

“I could ride with Sapnap,” George offered. “I’m light enough to double up. Dream could ride on his own.”

Fundy seemed doubtful. “We’re giving Dream his own horse?”

“Well, we haven’t made any decisions yet,” Bad said, “and there isn’t any reason to be up in arms. There isn’t anything wrong with Dream riding on his own horse.” He gave Fundy a pointed look. “He is  _ not  _ going to be riding off with our supplies, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Fundy put up a hand in surrender. “I never said that,” he claimed, though he failed to give any further explanation as to what his suspicions  _ were _ .

George considered Fundy for a moment, then said, “We wouldn’t let him.”

He agreed with Bad in that he didn’t believe Dream would pull a fast one on them, but it was what Fundy needed to hear. Besides, it was true. They weren’t exactly pushovers.

Bad gave him an odd look, like he wanted to argue with George but couldn’t. “It’ll all work out in the end,” he proclaimed instead. “We’re doing this regardless of the obstacles we face.”

  
  
  


Three hours after blackout found George staring up at the ceiling, rest being nothing more than a ridiculous notion that he could hardly entertain. The disjointed thoughts swirling in his head - a blend of excitement, anxiety, anticipation, and dread - chased away his sleep but not his exhaustion. Part of him itched to get up, to throw on his gear, to take up the Bow, to mount his horse, to just set out on this trip already -

“Are you asleep, man?”

George tilted his pillowed head to stare off the side of his bed, as if he could look at his friend as he spoke. “No.”

“Oh, great… Me neither.”

A pause.

“Couch?”

“Couch.”

Without needing further prompting, George and Sapnap clamored out of their beds and headed off to the living room.

The tradition of going to sit on the sofa when troubles warded off sleep started when the two of them had been young. Sapnap used to get recurring nightmares about the drowned monsters in the river north of town, and George, being a light sleeper, was almost always the one who was woken up by his restlessness first. Instead of leaving Sapnap to weather the aftermath of a bad dream on his own, he and George would make their way to the living room to sit and chat without having to worry about waking any of the other Smith brothers. They didn’t always talk, and it wasn’t always nightmares that brought them out of their beds in the first place, but the ritual persisted regardless, even years and years later.

The two of them dropped down onto the couch and propped their feet up on the otoman. If it had been different times, they might have watched the starry skyline or stoked a fire in the fireplace. For now, the curtains remained shut, and the hearth remained cold.

“Nervous?” George prompted after several moments of comfortable silence.

“Yeah,” sighed Sapnap. “Scared out of my mind, if I’m being honest.”

George snorted humorlessly. “Well, you’re not the only one.”

“Thank God for that. You think the others are scared shitless too?”

“If they weren’t, I’d be worried for them.”

“Even Fundy?” Sapnap wondered.

George considered that. “He’s seemed pretty nonplussed about this whole thing. I’m willing to bet it’s because he grew up knowing the Legends weren’t just legends. His mom wouldn’t have stood for it.”

He drew in a breath. “But, yeah, I think he’s scared too. He’s just too proud to ever admit it.”

There was a pause before Sapnap continued, “What about Dream? You think  _ he’s _ scared?”

George mulled it over, thought about how quick the wanderer was to jump into a fight with a horde of cave spiders, how unfazed he was at the sight of monster gore, how swiftly he decided that he wanted to join a bunch of virtual strangers on a quest that could very well end in their collective death.

Was he, George wondered, laying in bed and staring up at his ceiling, also far too nervous and excited to get a wink of sleep?

“I think so,” said George. “I mean, he’s just as mortal as the rest of us. He’s got to be scared.”

“Hm,” said Sapnap.

Silence.

“...George?”

“Yeah?”

“...We’re going to do this, right?”

George’s eyes flickered to the bedroom door. Beyond his line of sight, the Darkwood Bow was mounted on the wall, awaiting the dawn.

“Yes. Yes we are.”

  
  
  


The morning of their fate began like any other.

So that meant George woke to a pillow in the face.

“Whu - ?”

“Morning, George!”

“Oh.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed. “Morning, Bad.”

“Big day today,” Bad continued, clamoring down the bunkbed’s ladder as George got out of bed himself. “Unfortunately, dawn patrol is still a thing that exists.”

“Unfortunately,” George agreed through a yawn. He hopped down the ladder and unceremoniously yanked the blankets Sapnap had pulled over his head.

“Nooooo,” Sapnap complained. “Why does patrol have to start so  _ early _ ?”

“If we do this right, this is the last time we’ll ever have to get up for patrol,” Bad pointed out. “No more waking up well before dawn.”

“We talk about saving the world and ending the Aggression for the greater good and the fame and whatnot,” said George, pulling an overshirt out of his dresser, “but we all know the real reason why: dawn patrol sucks and we don’t want to do it anymore.”

“And Skeppy and Fundy are just tagging along for extra credit,” said Sapnap as he slid out of bed. “Buncha tryhards…” 

Bad snorted. “I’ve never heard anyone refer to Skeppy as a ‘tryhard’ and I honestly didn’t think I ever would.”

The rest of the morning carried on like it had the day before. George and Sapnap dressed quickly, geared up, and made their way to the town square, waking Eret on their way over. They arrived at 6:15 and broke off into their groups, patrolling the city streets and keeping quiet. They made it back to the center at just around 8:00, having come across no lingering endermen - or ‘dawn drifters’, as Dream liked to call them - during their rounds. When all groups returned, the blackout and curfew was officially over, and the village of Northwick came alive in the glory of morning.

Getting the council’s approval of their plan did have a few benefits. George was excused from his usual morning shift of day patrol, and Bad was able to arrange for someone to take his place as captain while he was away. As George and Sapnap were leaving the town square to return home, they caught sight of Bad speaking to a swordsman by the alias ‘Tapple’, who was nodding along with what Bad was telling him. Tapple spoke a short phrase, nodded one last time, and the pair saluted to each other before parting ways.

Sapnap’s mouth was quirked into a small frown. “You think Tapple was the best choice for stand-in captain?”

“If we come back,” said George, “and Northwick is up in flames, then we’ll know.”

Upon returning home, they rechecked their supplies for the millionth time. George’s Screen was constantly buzzing, his friends chatting back and forth about,  _ “Did you remember this?”  _ and,  _ “Don’t forget that!”  _ and  _ “Does anyone have those?”  _ Dream hadn’t been put in their chat room yet, so they just had to trust that he would bring what he needed.

It was 8:30 when George and Sapnap felt they were satisfied with their bags’ contents. Deciding that checking one more time would just be blatant stalling, they shouldered their packs and resolutely marched out the door. George locked up their apartment, hid the key behind a brick in the wall, and followed Sapnap downstairs.

George trailed his hand down the railing as they descended. It would be a long time before he got to see this house again…

Their next stop was the forge, where Sapnap’s brothers and Uncle Noah would be waiting for them.

Upon setting foot in the workshop, George and Sapnap were immediately ambushed by the three older Smith brothers, who tackled them into one massive embrace of leather aprons and coal dust. George couldn’t help but laugh, letting himself be squished into the center and receive enough hair ruffling in order to mess up his curls for a very long time. There were pats on the back, plenty of well wishes, and even a couple tears, but they were all grinning wider than the sky.

“Little brother,” the older Smiths called the both of them. George couldn’t stop smiling. 

When the brothers parted, Uncle Noah stepped forward. He may have been a mountain of a man, all strength and muscle forged from decades spent over the anvil, but looks were deceiving. George had never met a more compassionate man in his life, rivaling even Bad in his optimism and good will.

Uncle Noah placed one hand on each of their shoulders, holding their gazes steady. “You boys,” he said in his low, rumbling tone, “are going to do this village proud. They’ll tell tales of the brave young men who saw anguish in the world and sought to put an end to it. There are no men alive who share your and your friends’ valor and tenacity. I have no doubts that you’ll succeed.

“Jayson,” he said to Sapnap, “you are my youngest son, and I would be lying if I said I was not afraid. But I know you are strong. When the time comes, do not falter; hold your ground. I know you can.”

“I won’t let you down,” Sapnap told him.

Uncle Noah smiled. “You could never disappoint me.”

He looked to George. “Greggory, I’ve had the honor of being able to watch you grow into the man you are now. If your mother and father were still with us, they would be so proud of what you’ve accomplished and what you’ve set out to do.” 

His eyes flickered to the side. “I see you have the Darkwood Bow.”

“It’s been fixed to my wall for too long,” George explained simply. 

A bittersweet smile tugged at Uncle Noah’s lips. “It suits you well. Carry that bow to The End and show that dragon whatfor.”

“That’s the plan.”

Uncle Noah chuckled and pulled them both into a massive bear hug. “Stay safe, and watch each other’s backs. No matter what, always stick together, you hear?” He released them. “Don’t let me keep you. Hurry off to the stables, and tell your friends I wish you all the best of luck.”

“We will,” Sapnap promised with a nod.

It was then that they departed from the Smiths’ forge, saying their final ‘goodbyes’ and ‘see you laters’ as they went. George tried his hardest not to think about them for too long, because the longer he thought about Uncle Noah and the brothers, the more he was tempted to just turn around. He knew if he got cold feet now, he would live to regret it. The urge to retreat would leave him soon enough. It was probably going to be the hardest thing about today - just getting the ball rolling.

To keep his focus, he concentrated on one foot in front of the other. He could handle that. Just one step at a time…

They came to the stables a few minutes after 9:00 to find that Bad, Fundy, and Skeppy were already there. The horses had been brought over from the pens and were secured at the hitching posts. Fundy seemed to be in the middle of organizing the saddlebags while Skeppy and Bad were grooming the horses to ready them for tacking up.

“Hey guys!” Bad greeted them from where he was cleaning out one of the stallion’s hooves. He picked up a metal curry comb that laid on the ground beside him and tossed it to George. “Catch!”

George caught the comb by the handle. “Which ones haven’t been groomed?”

“Those two down on the other end,” said the captain, pointing. “Careful with the brown one. She’s a little moody this morning.”

“Are there any other grooming kits?” asked Sapnap, shrugging off his bag and passing it over to Fundy. 

“I’ve got an extra curry comb,” Skeppy offered from where he stood behind his own horse, brushing down its coat.

As the others sorted out grooming supplies, George approached the brown mare Bad had warned him about. He had quite a bit of equestrian experience, what with having to do horseback drills with Bad and the rest of the Guard, so he knew how to handle difficult horses. When the mare started to snort and fidget as he ran the curry comb over her coat in quick circles, he just steadied her by grabbing her by the halter and bringing her head gently down, or he patted the side of her neck. He knew it wouldn’t be a problem in the long run. It just so happened that she was a little more temperamental. Horses were animals, after all, and each had a personality of its own.

George was just moving on to the mare’s hooves when a voice called out, “Hey, sorry I’m late…” He looked up to find that it was none other than Dream, dressed in his usual dark-hooded get up. Strapped to his back was the bow he had taken from the skeleton the day before, as well as a half-full quiver and a rudimentary wood and iron shield; his dagger was clipped to his belt as well. “...I got a little turned around on the way here.” 

“Did George not give you directions?” Skeppy asked pointedly.

“I told him the stables were by the southern gates,” George replied.

“Dude, that only works if you know  _ how  _ to get to the southern gates.”

“What matters is that he's here now,” Bad intervened before anything could turn into a genuine argument. “Dream, could you help me out by putting the bridle on this one? I’m having some trouble with the girth at the moment.”

Dream hesitated. “Oh, I, uh… I’m not too familiar with horses.”

“Define ‘not too familiar’,” Sapnap requested, raising an eyebrow.

“Um, ‘not too familiar’ as in I probably haven’t worked with them in...well, at least six years now…?”

Everyone froze and looked up from their work to stare at the newcomer, deathly silent.

“...You’re shitting me,” Fundy deadpanned, breaking the quiet spell.

“Language, Fundy.”

“You said you’re an explorer!” Skeppy called out, baffled. “How can you  _ not _ know how to ride a horse?”

“I-I travel by foot,” Dream replied, holding his hands up in surrender. “Besides the fact that buying and taking care of a horse is infinitely expensive, they can be a hindrance in heavy woodland, which - in case you haven’t noticed - there is a  _ lot  _ of in Othana.”

“But to go six whole years without riding a horse  _ once _ ?”

“I’ve been busy!”

“And why exactly did you fail to mention this yesterday?” prodded Sapnap, tone edging towards dangerous.

Dream’s lips pursed into a fine line. “I had a few other things on my mind at the time.”

“Relax, you guys,” George interrupted. “It isn’t a big deal.”

“It kinda  _ is _ , man,” Sapnap retorted. “We’re about to go on a trip  _ exclusively  _ on horseback, and  _ he  _ hasn’t touched a set of reigns in literal ages.”

“No, George is right,” said the captain as he picked up a bridle from where it was hanging on one of the hitching posts. “This is a problem that has an easy fix so everyone just...take a breath. We’re all nervous today, and we’re all jumpy, but we can still be reasonable. Dream can ride with George. Their combined weight shouldn’t be too much for the horse.”

“But George is lighter,” Fundy pointed out. “That means he’ll be riding in the back saddle if he’s partnered with Dream.”

“So I’ll ride in the back,” George shrugged, dusting off a saddle pad.

“ _ And _ control the horse?”

“Why not? I’ve done it before.”

Fundy gave him an odd look. “You’ve controlled a horse from the back of a two-person saddle with a passenger that is  _ taller _ than you?”

“Guard drills have us learn to ride a horse in just about any given situation, so yes, I’ve controlled a horse from the back of a two person saddle, and  _ everyone  _ is taller than me - except for Skeppy.”

“I feel called out,” Skeppy announced. 

“It isn’t a callout if everyone knows it, including yourself,” Sapnap replied.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to  _ remind _ me.”

“So I’m riding with George?" Dream clarified, pointing to the mare that George was tacking up.

“Yep,” George answered. “So, first order of business: how much about horseback riding do you actually remember?”

As it would turn out, the answer was ‘not much’. Dream could recall the very basics, like how to sit in the saddle and how to properly hold the reins. He understood that kicking his heels into the horse’s sides and clicking his tongue got it to move forward, and pulling back on the reins got it to stop. Beyond that, Dream was ignorant of all things technique. George wasn’t even sure if Dream knew how much to pull on the reins in order to properly steer.

That was fine, though. The reins were easily long enough for George to control from the back, and they (hopefully) wouldn’t be doing very much intense riding. If anything, Dream should’ve been able to hold the reins for a majority of their trip with George taking over only for more difficult maneuvers.

It was nearing nine thirty when they finally had all the horses tacked up with bridles, double saddles, and saddlebags. Dream was showing them the course he had plotted and was tweaking it to their suggestions and concerns when a young voice called from behind them.

“Hey, Mister Archer!”

Everyone in the group lifted their heads to look at George, who gave them an equally puzzled look in response and turned around. It took him a second to recognize her, but he noticed the familiar small mask of blue and green feathers pushed up onto her forehead. It was the young girl who had stood in the window during the prior day’s dawn patrol.

George offered the girl a confused smile as she trotted up to him. “Oh, uh, hi there!” he managed. “What’re you doing all the way out here?”

“Got somethin’ for ya.” The girl lifted her hand, and resting in her small palm was a foam-tipped arrow. “Here you go!”

George stared at the gift, baffled, but he took it into his own grasp regardless of his confusion. “Is...this for me?”

“Uh-huh!” chirped the girl, bobbing her head up and down. “My momma says that you’re gonna go save the village from the tall monsters so that we don’t hafta wear masks anymore. Now you have an extra arrow!” She seemed immensely proud of herself.

( _ Maybe there  _ **_are_ ** _ a few people in Northwick who do have faith in us after all… _ )

“Oh, of course,” George answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Not quite sure what to do with the gift, he slung his quiver off his back and considered putting it in with the rest of his arrows, as it was short enough that he wouldn’t get it mixed up with the  _ actual _ projectiles. The only problem was, the quiver he was using was specially built to hold the arrows in place so they wouldn’t fall out during a fight. This meant there could only be a set number of arrows contained in the quiver at a given time, and he had been sure to fill every available slot. 

However, there were various straps and buckles winding around the sides that he could use. He loosened one of the straps enough to let him slide the toy arrow in and buckle it into place on the outside of his quiver. “I’ll hold it here for safe keeping,” he told her.

“Okay! Now I’ve gotta go before Momma yells at me.” She waved over her shoulder as she ran back into town. “Bye, Mister Archer!”

“Bye!” George called back just before the girl scurried around a horse drawn cart and disappeared into the crowd.

George slung his quiver over his shoulder again and turned back to the group...only to find that everyone was giving him the same huge, dopey grin.

He gave them a flat look. “Don’t - ”

“Oh my goodness, that was so cute!”

“Who  _ was _ that girl?”

“George, you have a fanclub!”

“Are you actually going to hold onto that arrow?”

“That was literally the most adorable thing I’ve witnessed with my own two eyes.”

“Oh, look at him, he’s blushing!”

George glowered at them and pulled his forge goggles down over his eyes, hoping it would do something to hide the redness of his face. “Quit it, you guys.”

“Ooooooo, look at you trying to be all dark and aloof,” Sapnap teased, bumping his shoulder. “Admit it, you’re touched.”

George scoffed. “N-no I’m not,” he objected lamely. “It’s just some dumb toy arrow.”

“George, don’t be mean,” Bad berated, frowning at him. “She’s trying to be helpful.”

“It’s just going to sit in my quiver for the rest of the trip.”

“It might,” said Dream, “but you have to admit...that’s  _ really  _ cute, man.”

“Uh-huh, ‘cute’, right,” George sighed, defeated. “That’s  _ definitely  _ the impression I want to give the new guy.”

“Hey, there are worse things. Would you rather I think you’re stupid?”

“No - ”

“Oh, please,  _ please _ assume he’s stupid,” interrupted Skeppy. “It will save you so much time later.”

“You’re not helping.”

“It was never my intention to.”

“Guys, it’s nine thirty,” Fundy spoke up, pointing at his Screen. “Are we going or what?”

“Wait, it’s already nine thirty?” said Bad, prodding at his own Screen. “Oh, muffins! We have to go. The last thing we want is to leave late on the first day.”

“Woooo!” cheered Skeppy as he pumped a fist in the air. “Showtime, guys!”

With the spectacle of George’s supposed ‘fan club’ having passed, everyone returned to their horses. George unclipped the steed he would be using - a stallion with a rust brown coat and coal black mane. He gestured Dream over. “Come on, what’re you waiting for? Hop on up.”

Dream came to the horse, awkwardly placed his hands on the side of the saddle, and froze.

George pushed his goggles up. “I thought you said you know how to mount a horse.”

Dream tapped his fingers anxiously and glanced downward. “Not from the ground…”

George rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. He shoved his foot into the back stirrup and pulled himself into the back saddle. Then, he held out a hand. “Here, getting in from a standing position can be a little tricky. Put your left foot in the stirrup and I’ll pull you up. Technically, the person in the front is supposed to get on first, so please avoid kicking me when bringing your leg over. I’d rather not get a boot to the face.”

“Right, uh…” Dream took George’s hand, and on a quick count of three, George hoisted him up while he pushed off the ground. He landed in the saddle without incident. The reins were passed back to George, who had to reach around Dream slightly to grasp them. Once they were situated, George gave a gentle kick and clucked his tongue twice. The horse set into motion at a walk, joining the group with Bad and Skeppy directly ahead and Fundy right behind; Sapnap brought up the rear.

George took the time to get one last look at Northwick as he and the group made their way to the southern gates. He had never been particularly fond of traveling. He didn’t dislike it, but he was by no means an adventurer like Dream. The most traveling he did was a day or two - rarely three - just to get to other cities and towns for competition. For the past few months, he had felt particularly restless confined to the territories of Northwick for fear of being picked off by endermen; though this morning, he had wanted nothing more than to go back home and stay there forever.

Where he had felt anxiety, excitement, dread, and eagerness, all that was left was a soft sort of pulse deep within his chest, warm and light.

Hope.

He couldn’t guarantee that this journey to defeat the Ender Dragon would be successful, but he could hope, and he could be brave - brave enough to leave town, brave enough to storm a Nether fortress, brave enough to free The End.

There was no fanfare when their horses' hooves hit the dirt path on the other side of the gates of Southern Northwick. There was no crowd cheering them on, no council members or captains to see them off. It was just them and the wilds of Northern Othana. 

_ Farewell, Northwick,  _ George thought, glancing at home over his shoulders just as the forest treeline hid the town from view.  _ Until we meet again.  _

Bad kicked his horse and brought her to a trot, and George and the others moved to do the same.

Once trotting, George noticed that Dream was just sort of...awkwardly bouncing in the saddle rather than moving with the horse’s rhythmic gait. “Why aren’t you posting?”

Dream turned his head back to look back at George. “‘Posting’? What’s that?”

George sighed. Okay, maybe this wasn’t going to go quite as smoothly as he initially thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And off they go! This is officially the end of what I like to call 'Part One: Northwick'. Next chapter we'll be heading into Part Two. I'll give more details on the next update.
> 
> Also, you may have noticed that Uncle Noah refers to Sapnap and George as "Jayson" and "Greggory". A little explanation: most of the characters in this story (protagonists or otherwise) have an in-story 'real name' that differs from their real life counterpart's name. This is mostly for my sake as an author because I'd like to put a /little/ more distance between the characters in this fic and the Real People. So, George is 'Greggory Darkwood' and Sapnap is 'Jayson Smith'. There's actually a bit of cultural(?) stuff for the in-story world behind calling someone by their alias and calling someone by their real name. But, you'll have to wait to find out more about that.
> 
> Also also - holy heck you guys are so nice??? Like, first of all, hello?? Where did all you people come from??? And I love reading your comments so so much! I especially love all the theories y'all come up with; I like being able to see which direction you guys think this story is gonna go.
> 
> Anyway, I'll stop rambling. Again, thank you for all the comments and kudos! See y'all next week!!


	7. Tales of the Supernatural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the next step in their journey, Part Two: Runica Forest - finally! This second part of the story will be a few chapters shorter than the first, but it's definitely going to be eventful. Hope you enjoy!

“...I’m just saying, wouldn’t shields be kinda useless in the Nether?” Skeppy pointed out, tapping his thighs pensively as their horses plodded along. “Like, everything is on fire there. Wouldn’t they just burn up the moment we stepped through the portal?”

“Not exactly, no,” answered Fundy. “It’s hot in the Nether, but not enough for flammable objects to spontaneously catch fire. If that were the case, then we would have one hell of a time - no pun intended - trying to survive in the Nether, as we technically fall under the umbrella of ‘flammable objects’.”

“What about blazes?” asked Dream, looking up from his map to glance at Fundy. “It’s my understanding that we’re headed to the Nether to get blaze powder, aren’t we?”

“Yep. We need blaze rods for powder, which we can then use for Eyes of Ender - and brewing. I am  _ so  _ sick of using coal to heat my brewing stands, blaze powder works so much faster - …” He waved a hand beside his head, as if dismissing himself. “But yes, you make a point. Our shields will probably be burned shortly after we run into blazes.”

“Remind me again why we didn’t just make metal shields?” asked Sapnap flatly.

“Blaze fire is exceptionally hot. A few direct hits would begin to melt the shield, and then there’s the risk of getting molten steel on your arm.”

Sapnap grimaced at the thought. “Right…”

“We knew going in that the fight with the blazes was going to be bow-heavy,” said Bad, plucking a few absentminded notes on his fiddle. “That’s why we have George, after all.”

George scoffed. “Like I would have let you guys go without me.”

“I can’t believe you actually brought that thing,” said Sapnap.

Bad gave Sapnap an offended look, mouth dropping open. “Sapnap! That’s no way to talk about George!”

“No, I’m not talking about the gremlin - ”

“Hey!”

“ - I’m talking about your fiddle. Aren’t you supposed to be controlling your horse?”

Bad reached down and patted his brown-coated mare on the side of her neck. “She’s a very well-trained horse. She knows to stick to the trails.”

“Yeah, well, the trail’s going to end in a minute,” said Dream, looking back down at his map, “so I’d recommend you take the reins again.”

“Oh, I got it,” said Skeppy. “Bad, hand me the reins.”

“You, Skeppy,” said Bad, pulling the reins back so the redstoner could take them, “are a true friend.”

Skeppy took control of the mare and held his arms at the ready. “Alright, which way are we going?”

“There’ll be a tree on your right with a marker carved into the side of it,” said Dream. “At least, there  _ should  _ be. I haven’t been around here in awhile, so I might’ve gotten a couple landmarks mixed up.”

“You mean we could be lost?” asked Sapnap.

“No, not entirely. I still know approximately where we are; I have the coords written down, and though we’re out of range of any towers out here, I can use my compass to get us back on track.”

George perked up at that. “Wait, you can still navigate with coords when your Screen is  _ offline _ ?”

“Yeah,” said Dream with a shrug. “So long as you have a good sense of where you are and what direction to go in order to approach which coordinates, you don’t need your Screen to find the location of a specific set of coords. Just takes some getting used to.”   
  


“So you could potentially travel without using your Screen at all,” Fundy summarized.

“Yep. It’s good practice to not be too reliant. I mean, besides the fact that there aren’t that many working server towers around anymore, I don’t always have redstone to power my Screen. I think the longest I’ve gone on the road with absolutely nothing but my compass, maps, and the stars would be three months. I’ve been in situations where I’ve gotten  _ completely _ lost, though.”

“What do you do when that happens?” 

“Walk in a straight line until I run into something familiar.”

George laughed. “You’re kidding!”

“Am not. What else am I supposed to do?”

“I thought you’d have a special…” George made a vague motion with his hand. “Explorer…expedition... _ strategy _ or something.”

“That’s it. That’s the strat. Climbing up a hill or tree to look for landmarks helps too, but other than that, all you can do is choose a direction and start walking.”

“I see the marker!” Skeppy announced, pointing up ahead. Sure enough, there was a young oak tree standing by the edge of the narrow trail, the letter ‘D’ and a little smiley face carved into the trunk.

Fundy snorted. “Very on-brand of you.”

“I had to think of  _ something _ ,” said Dream, folding up his map, “so it might as well be something I’ll be sure to recognize. Skeppy, make a right here.”

“Got it,” confirmed the redstoner, tugging the reins to lead his horse by Dream’s instructions. George and the others did the same.

Bad plucked a couple notes and hummed to himself, then asked, “So, you just have these little ‘markers’ scattered around Runica Forest?”

Dream nodded. “Definitely the forest, but I’ve got them anywhere from the Denrel Mountains down to the Gorin Wastes.”

“Wow,” Bad remarked, plucking a few astonished notes. “That’s basically all of Othana.”

“Exploring for several years means you get around, yeah.”

“I thought you said you’d been traveling for months,” said George.

“That’s because I  _ have _ been traveling - non-stop with no given destination - for months. I’ve been creating maps and leading private expeditions for much, much longer...until recently, of course.”

“Where was your last expedition?”

“It was down south exploring the western borders that pushed against the Feather Tree Woods.”

“That land is supposed to be cursed,” Fundy pointed out. “You know that whole,  _ ‘All those who wander too far in never find their way out,’ _ trope you hear in just about every other story you read? Yeah, the first ever  _ authentic _ record of that ‘trope’ is literally in an old folktale about Feather Tree Woods.”

“So people will pay good money to send someone to go poking around for treasure and resources,” answered Dream. He shrugged. “A little hexing never hurt anyone.”

“Hexing has done nothing  _ but  _ hurt people.”

“Well, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Maybe the reason people never find their way out is because the forest tricks them into thinking they’re out but they really aren’t,” suggested Skeppy, leading his horse carefully over some ground made uneven by tree roots. “Like, illusions ‘n stuff. We could all be  _ ‘figments of your imagination, oooooo…’ _ ”

“Well shit,” Dream deadpanned, “that would be really inconvenient.”

“Language,” said Bad, plucking an unpleasant chord.

“Sorry.”

“Dream,” began George, “I’m telling you now, every time Bad says, ‘Language,’ literally just ignore him. That’s what the rest of us do.”

“Shhhh, George!” hissed Bad. “Why’d you have to go and say that? I actually had someone who was willing to listen to me for once!”

“Oh, we listen to you,” Sapnap assured, “just not all the time.”

“Liar. You muffin heads ignore me more often than not.”

Dream chuckled, confused. “‘Muffin heads’?”

“Oh, right, another thing about Bad,” continued George. “He will use ‘muffin’ in place of pretty much  _ any _ curse word.”

“What do you have against cursing?” Dream asked of the captain. 

“There’s just no need for it,” Bad answered matter-of-factly. “Why put something foul-sounding into the world when you can... _ not _ ?”

“Veeeeery touching, Bad,” drawled Fundy, “but I think I’ll hold onto my ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s a little while longer - ”

“Language!”

Dream just chuckled and shook his head at the absurdity of it all. “I might’ve traveled to the four known corners of Othana,” he said in an undertone so the others wouldn’t overhear, “but I don’t think I’ve met a group as peculiar as yours, George.”

George smiled. “Yeah, there’s something seriously wrong with us. Welcome to the madness.”

“I’m glad you’ll have me.”

Their trail ride came to a stop shortly thereafter when they arrived at a shallow creek. Everyone dismounted and led their horses over to the riverbed so the animals could drink their fill and munch on the lush grass. The group, meanwhile, passed around bags of dried berries and meats. It was around noon, after all, and they still had a ways to go before they would have to stop for their first night in Runica Forest.

_ “I’d never met a maiden quite as fierce and fair as she…” _

Bad murmured the light little melody, his bow singing across the strings of his fiddle.

_ “She had eyes of summer storms and hair of autumn wheat - ” _

“Ew, Bad, no love songs,” Skeppy complained, kicking his boots through the water-smoothed stones washed up on the streambed. 

“Aw, ‘Lonely Lady’ is such a cute song though!”

“I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that  _ you brought your fiddle _ ,” said Sapnap, gesturing sharply at the instrument. “What happened to traveling light?”

“My fiddle is light,” Bad argued. “Besides, Fundy brought his.”

“Only because you harassed me into packing it,” grumbled the scholar.

Sapnap whirled around. “Wait, you too?”

Instead of answering, Fundy walked over to one of the horses, popped open a saddle bag, reached in, and produced yet another glossy wooden fiddle. Cascading down the body were countless runes, etched in over the years by careful hands.

“...Really, man?”

“I regret the day I decided to teach Bad how to play,” said Fundy, frowning darkly.

Dream tilted his head to the side, curious. “Is that Galactic you’ve got on there?”

Fundy’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, it is. Do you know how to read Galactic?”

“Ehhh,” Dream replied, tilting a hand back and forth in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “I can recognize a few words here and there, but I don’t actually know what all the individual runes mean.”

Fundy held out his fiddle eagerly. “Tell me what you can understand.”

Dream seemed uncertain, but he stepped forward and gently took the fiddle into his grasp. “I can’t make out entire sentences, but I do recognize a few words, like, uh... ‘Strength’…” he read, slowly turning it this way and that. “‘Soul’... ‘Unbreaking’... ‘Sharp...ness’...?” He squinted. “These just sound like parts of regular old enchantments.”

“That’s because they are,” Fundy replied, “sort of. The Galactic runes you use for both enchantment and simple writing - like, writing for stories and texts - are the same.” He tapped one of the etchings with a finger. “I haven’t actually put any sort of enchantments behind these runes like I would for armor and weapons, but just writing the runes in full is enough to put some ‘intent’ behind them, as the runes themselves carry their own sort of power.”

“Not gonna lie, that’s pretty cool,” Dream said as he handed Fundy’s fiddle back to him.

It was brief, but a pleased smile flickered across Fundy’s lips. “Thanks.”

“Oh, what about mine?” asked Bad, lifting up his fiddle by the neck. He turned it around to reveal a handful of similar etchings on the back of the body. “Fundy put these on here when we were kids. I know a couple of them, but he hasn’t told me about them all. Maybe you’ll recognize a few.”

Dream stepped up and took Bad’s fiddle, then began to inspect it like he had done Fundy’s. “‘Protection’... ‘Soul’... ‘Protection’ again… ‘Channel’ I think...? Uh, ‘Loyalty’... ‘Protection’  _ again _ … ‘Luck’... That… That  _ looks _ like ‘silk’ but I can’t be too sure. Sorry, I’m really only familiar with the runes for standard enchantments.”

“It’s ‘silken’,” translated Fundy, picking up Bad’s fiddle and carefully running a hand down the Galactic phrases, “as in, ‘May this channel of the soul forever whisper silken sounds.’”

“Shit, that’s deep,” Sapnap remarked.

“Language,” Bad interjected as he took his fiddle back. “But...yes, it’s a lovely thing to say.” 

Bad tucked the fiddle under his chin and danced his bow across the bridge.

_ “...And she denied her suitors, claiming her love was out their waiting - ” _

“Bad - ” started Skeppy.

_ “ - but I knew that, deep down - ” _

“ _ Bad -  _ ”

_ “ - she was a lonely, lonely lady.” _

“Baaaaaaad, stoooopppp.”

“You’re only encouraging him,” said Fundy.

Dream folded his arms and returned to his spot beside George, watching with something between confusion and amusement as Bad tormented his friend with the next verse of the cliche tavern song. “Does he do this often?” the wanderer stage-whispered to him.

“You would be surprised,” was George’s reply.

Dream silently observed them a moment longer; George turned and took a couple steps back to stand by the streambed and fill up his canteen.

“...I find it odd,” Dream pondered aloud a beat later.

“Find what odd?” George prompted.

“Traveling - in a group, I mean.” He paused. “I’m not used to it.”

George popped the canteen’s lid on. “No?”

“No. It’s just… You start to notice things when you spend a lot of time with people after going ages without company. Just - just small, weird, random little things. Like, my throat,” he explained. “It’s sore. I’m not sick, I’m not thirsty. I’ve just been talking so much more than I’m used to. When I was traveling alone, I would sometimes go days, even  _ weeks _ without saying anything more than a word or two to myself.”

The wanderer paused, drew in a breath. “I...I was afraid that I’d forgotten how to talk to people...”

George looked up from his canteen. 

He saw Dream standing right where he’d left the wanderer a couple paces away. Dream had his back to George, still watching the rest of the group. Fundy had taken out his fiddle’s bow at some point, and he, Bad, and Skeppy were all belting out what George recognized as “Forge of Fire” simply to aggravate Sapnap, who openly despised the song for all the inaccuracies in its smithing terminology. He looked to be half a verse away from decking someone, but there was a wide, fond grin stretched across his face nonetheless.

“In all fairness, small talk is overrated,” George told Dream abruptly, clipping his canteen to his belt and going to stand by the wanderer’s side. “You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to.”

Dream’s head turned just slightly in George’s direction - the only indication that Dream was looking at him. “I appreciate that, but I’d rather try to relearn conversation. I’ll be needing it where we’re headed.”

  
  
  


As it would turn out, Dream had a little more time to ‘relearn conversation’ than George initially thought. Their first day of traveling was without a properly set destination, but it had not been directionless. Dream still needed a means of measuring how fast they could travel when on horseback since he was not familiar with such forms of transportation. So, he’d led them as far down the plotted course as they could go before they really needed to consider making camp.

They took shelter in what had once been the entrance to a cave, but boulders had fallen over the tunnel about twenty meters into the recess, creating a shallow room with a low-bearing ceiling. It was the perfect spot to take shelter, as it was defendable and too low for an enderman to easily pop in. The thickness of the woodland surrounding it was enough for them to keep a couple lanterns or a very small fire lit through the night should they so desire.

Once they had decided upon their location, they split up the necessary tasks among themselves. Bad took care of the horses, Skeppy went in search of firewood, Fundy scavenged for any plants or herbs that might come in handy in the coming days, Dream continued planning their course, and George and Sapnap set off hunting for their dinner. Their original plan had been to purchase or barter for food as needed in various villages as they went, but as Dream had shown them, that simply wasn’t an option. So, hunting was their next best choice. Dream claimed to know how to skin and prepare freshly caught game, so he would be helping out when George and Sapnap returned.

They decided to stick to small game, something that could easily be carried back to camp. Sapnap wasn’t much of an archer, but he, Uncle Noah, and the brothers had gone hunting often in the past, so he had a keen eye. With Sapnap wielding Bad’s bow and George wielding his mother’s, they shot a few decently-sized rabbits.

The sun was sinking nearer to the horizon when George and Sapnap returned to the campsite. Fundy was organizing the saddlebags that he’d taken from the horses, who stood tied up just under the alcove. Skeppy and Bad were tending to a fire, and Dream seemed to still be in the process of charting their course. His map had been removed from his notebook so another page of notes could be opened up. He had spread both out before himself, as well as his Screen, which he had taken off so he could easily look between the maps and his strange list of coordinates as he worked. He sat cross-legged on the floor, one hand supporting his chin while the other rested on his knee, twirling a charcoal pencil furiously.

“We’re back,” George announced upon their arrival, ducking into the low overhang.

“And we brought dinner,” added Sapnap as he held up a couple rabbits demonstratively.

Bad looked up with a friendly grin. “Oh, good. The fire needs another minute or two, but until then, you guys can start prepping those.”

Sapnap sat himself down next to Bad. “You got that, Dream?”

There was no reply; Dream didn’t even look up.

“Dream?”

Again, he gave no response. Curious, George sat down beside the silent wanderer and peered over his shoulder to see exactly what it was that had captivated his attention so completely. Nothing about his map seemed to be out of the ordinary, and his list of mystery coordinates was as indecipherable as ever. That left the notebook, which, upon closer inspection, was open to a page with a hauntingly familiar figure sketched along the edge of the left page: a mid-Aggression enderman, spined hide and all. George couldn’t even begin to make out the chicken scratch that occupied the rest of the two pages, but some notes looked far newer than others. Many had to have been added just now, if the charcoal smudges on Dream’s right hand were anything to go by.

...His right hand, which was the only moving part of him. He was completely still apart from the fingers of that hand, twirling his pencil around and around so quickly that it was nothing more than a blur. His other hand, meanwhile, had moved from holding up his chin to being draped over the back of his neck.

Baffled by the wanderer’s hyperfixation, George said, “Hey, Earth to Dream,” and nudged him in the shoulder.

At the contact, Dream snapped out of his trance with a sharp gasp. His jolt was so great, in fact, that the pencil he’d been twirling was flicked into the side of his own face. He shook his head minutely and then turned to George, sputtering, “D-did you, uh… Did you say something?”

George let out a confused chuckle. “Yeah. We’ve been trying to get your attention for a while now.”

Sapnap gave Dream an odd look. “That’s some pretty intense mapping you’re doing there, man.”

Dream returned his attention to his notes and charts. “Mapping. Right.” He closed his notebook with a little more force than was necessary.

George and Sapnap exchanged a glance and spared a look to the others, whose equally-puzzled expressions didn’t offer any sort of insight, Skeppy even going as far as to give a subtle shrug.

“Right, well, we brought food back,” said George, bringing an end to the awkward silence that had befallen the group. “You said you know how to skin small game, right?”

“Yes, I do. Pass it over.”

Skinning rabbits was an easy process. If you were determined enough, you could skin the animal with just your bare hands. Dream, as it would turn out,  _ was _ determined enough, and he easily ripped the coat from the flesh, peeling it open like a fleshy banana, which - now that George thought about it - was  _ not  _ a good mental image. Regardless, he shrugged and followed Dream’s example, if only to save time. 

Before long, the rabbits had been divided among them, and they were crowded shoulder to shoulder around the fire, roasting the fresh meat that they’d speared onto sharp sticks.

The group was silent for the most part. Bad started to hum a light tune. Fundy - who was roasting his rabbit with one hand while using a charcoal pencil in his other to doodle Galactic runes on the heel of his boot - picked up on the melody and hummed along with him, making the captain smile. Skeppy would occasionally pass his stick over to Bad so he could type something into his Screen. (They’d just barely gotten in range of some server towers when they made camp.  _ Whose _ server towers? Hell if they knew.) George, meanwhile, found himself leaning comfortably onto Sapnap while Dream sat to his other side. Despite the fact that autumn was well underway, making the nights fairly cold, Dream had elected to pull down his hood, probably due to the heat from the flames. It left the dark scarf tied around his head in view, though he didn’t seem to care.

Emphasis on  _ seem _ . With that mask of his obscuring most of his features, it could be difficult to get a read on him. He usually telegraphed his thoughts in another way - a tilt of his head, a shift in his shoulders, a wave of his hand. Still, he was a hard man to construe.

It was at times like these where George often wondered what Dream’s face really looked like. What color were his eyes? What was the shape of his nose? George tried to make guesses on his appearance through what little he could see of the wanderer’s complexion. Freckles hung low on his cheeks, so maybe those reached up further? Perhaps across his nose or up to his forehead? Did he have more of those faded blemishes and scars on the upper half of his face, or any injuries? Maybe  _ that _ was why he wore the mask and scarf - his features were marred by a healing wound. Must’ve been a nasty one, then. Geroge wondered how long it would take for him to recover.

George didn’t realize he was staring until Sapnap nudged him and said, “Dude, your rabbit is on fire.”

The archer blinked, and his eyes shot back to the campfire to see that his dinner was, in fact, up in flames. “Ah,  _ shit _ ,” he hissed, yanking his rabbit out of the fire and blowing on the lightly seared meat.

“Language,” Bad chastised as usual.

The general stillness of the group seemed to have been broken, as Fundy leaned back with a sigh, Dream stretched, and Skeppy giggled at something on his Screen. “What’re you doing?” Sapnap asked the latter.

“Chatting with our contact in Zero Town,” Skeppy chirped in response, not looking up from his Screen.

Bad gestured at him with Skeppy’s stick, elaborating, “He’s talking to our friend about some new redstone innovation being developed in Golestiera.”

“Flying machines, Bad!” Skeppy crowed, throwing his hands up in excitement. “I mean, they’re still in development and not fully flushed out yet but  _ flying! Machines! _ ” 

“Flying machines?” echoed George. “Like, what, for transportation?”

“Oh, no. They don’t  _ actually _ fly. It’s just a concept for automatic farm plows that’re hooked up to thin, lightweight rigs, so from a distance, they kinda look like they’re flying - that’s how they got their name. But, speaking of redstone…” He typed one last thing on his Screen before bringing his arm down and taking his rabbit back from Bad. “...I was toying with some ideas for our camp.”

“What kind of ideas?” Fundy prompted, glancing up from his boot.

“Well,  _ redstone _ , obviously. I was thinking maybe I could use what I’ve got to fashion a simple security system around the entrance over there to alert us if some monsters come over. That way, no one has to stay up really late to keep watch.”

“Sorry, someone’s going to have to keep an eye on the horses,” said Bad, shrugging. “It was a good idea though.”

Skeppy frowned and dropped his chin into his hand. “Aw.”

“I say he should still build it,” Dream spoke up. “You can’t be too careful around here.”

“It won’t waste our redstone reserves, will it?” asked Bad. “We’re not going to be able to get anymore until we’re in Zero Town, and I’d like to keep our Screens powered.”

“Nah,” Skeppy assured him. “I can recycle some of the powder. It’ll hardly make a dent.” Skeppy nudged him in the shoulder. “It’ll be cool, just watch.”

A thought occurred to George, and he tilted his head back, looking overhead. “Dream, you said no endermen could teleport into here, right?”

“No, they can’t,” said Dream firmly. “Ceiling’s too low.”

“What about walking in through the front?” George pointed at the massive gap in the wall of the alcove.

Dream shook his head. “Endermen won’t go into small places willingly. As long as they don’t have any reason to believe we’re in here, they won’t wander in. Someone keeping watch and Skeppy’s alarm system should sort out any outliers, anyway.”

“How much do you know about enderman behavior?” prompted Fundy. “I’m curious.”

“Basically as much as I  _ can  _ know. I try to avoid them, but a good deal of my knowledge is first-hand, to some extent.” Dream removed his rabbit from the fire, carefully looking over the roasted leg, and continued, “Everything else is second-hand accounts from settlers I’ve run into who have had encounters with them, or whatever I can find recorded in public archives. I visited the library in Southern Northwick for a few hours, actually, but I couldn’t find anything about mid-Aggression endermen that I didn’t already know.” He reached over to his side and pulled out his notebook. “I was just updating some of my older notes earlier, if you want to have a look for yourself.”

Fundy’s face lit up. “ _ Please _ .”

Dream gave his notebook to George, who reached past Sapnap to hand it over to the scholar. With amusingly childlike glee, Fundy began to skim the tabs sticking out of Dream’s monster of a notebook.

“Ha, nerd,” Skeppy scoffed.

Sapnap removed his own rabbit from the flames and held it up to cool. “Do you have anything about pre-Aggression endermen?”

Dream’s head tilted to the side. “Well, no, not in my notebook. Pre-Aggression isn’t really all that important at the moment.”

“You’ve heard the stories about pre-Aggression endermen, though,” said George. He removed his rabbit from the flames as well, deciding that it was plenty cooked, if not a touch too crispy.

“Yeah, of course: friendly giants with a knack for shiny things. Give it a trinket and it’ll save your life or something.” 

Sapnap nodded. “Yeah, that’s almost exactly how it goes.” He smirked. “I would know.”

“Oh,  _ this  _ story again,” groaned Skeppy, rolling his eyes. “I swear, he tells it every chance he gets. Won’t shut up about it.”

“‘Cause it’s a cool story!” argued Sapnap. He turned back to Dream and said, “You like endermen, right?”

The corner of Dream’s mouth twitched downward. “I don’t...exactly  _ like _ them - ”

“Well, yeah, of course not,” Sapnap scoffed. “No one ‘likes’ them. I just mean you like them like Fundy does.” He threw a thumb over to the man in question, who still had his nose buried in Dream’s notebook. “You think they’re interesting.”

“Uh, sure, let’s go with that.”

If Sapnap noticed Dream’s blatant discomfort, he didn’t say or do anything about it. “Alright, cool. So, basically, the story goes like this - ”

“Oh,  _ here we go _ \- ”

“Shut up, Skeppy. The story goes like this: I was spending a late night at the forge a couple years ago, keeping the fires hot later than usual to work on a commissioned sword. It was probably close to one in the morning and I was already half asleep, so when I noticed something moving in the corner of my eye, I just thought it was my brain playing tricks on me. It couldn’t be anyone because it was a stupid late at night and one one besides the golems were up and about.

“Except, the problem was that the moving didn’t stop. It was really subtle, just a little shift in the shadows around the edges of the forge, but it was  _ there _ . Thinking it was some guy who’d come to attack me, I picked up the first thing I could find - which happened to be a broken dagger from the scraps pile - and jumped at them.

“Turns out, it wasn’t a person. It was an enderman, which was, you know, one of those creatures you hear about but never see. I didn’t even realize what I was looking at at first. Either way, I must’ve startled it because it vanished in a puff of blue magic half a second later. I can remember just kinda...standing there for two whole minutes, trying to decide if I’d actually run into an enderman or if I’d just imagined the whole thing. Eventually, I sat back down, but I kept an eye on the spot where it had been watching me from, just in case.

“It’s a good thing I did, because ten-ish minutes later, it appeared again. We stared at each other for a while before I decided to invite it into the forge because - to be honest, I don’t know why. Felt kinda weird to just have it stand out there in the cold. I don’t even know if endermen can  _ be  _ cold. Anyway, it took my invitation, so I must’ve done something right. It sat down on the other side of the table and watched me watching the fire for a minute or two.

“During that time, I kept thinking about all the stuff you hear about endermen and giving them gifts to eventually get something in return. I decided it couldn’t hurt to test the theory, so I picked up the broken dagger from earlier. Again, half of the blade had been snapped clean off, but the handle was still intact. I’d meant to recycle it for another weapon, but I thought the enderman might’ve gotten some joy out of it.

“I was really careful when I picked it up, and I made sure to be slow when I put it down on the table between us. Then I sorta just...slid it over and sat back down. The enderman didn’t do anything for a minute. It just stared at the dagger with its blueish eyes blown wide. Then, it grabbed the dagger, nodded at me, and disappeared again.

“And that was that. I never saw it again.”

“You never saw - ?” started Dream.

“UNTIL two months later,” continued Sapnap. “George was here for this bit, actually.”

“Yeah, I was,” George recalled, nodding in agreement.

“He didn’t believe my story when I first told him about it in the morning. He said I ‘imagined’ the whole thing.”

George scoffed. “Of course I did, given the way we found you the next morning.”

“George - ” Sapnap warned, though George beat him to it, turning to Dream and saying, “He fell asleep at the forge that night.”

Dream snickered. “Really?”

“Yeah.” George winced with a chuckle, adding, “He completely ruined the commission. Uncle Noah was  _ furious _ .”

“That’s not important,” said Sapnap.

“ _ I _ think it’s important - ” 

“S’NOT IMPORTANT MOVING ON. George and I were down in the caves around Northwick at the time. The town’s miners had found this huge underground ravine but closed it off shortly after because of a few incidents of people falling into the crevices and never getting out. But, George and I were stupid - ”

“ _ Are _ stupid - ” Fundy corrected.

“ -  _ are _ stupid,” amended Sapnap, “so we decided to check it out for ourselves. We were on one of those cliff ledges that usually run along the sides of ravines, trying to find our own way down to the bottom. I was up front, and George must have been a good fifteen feet behind me. 

“Then, out of the blue, I heard this loud thud behind me, and then George was yelling at me to get down. It happened so fast that I just barely had time to turn around to see the creeper that had dropped down from above on the cusp of detonating. If it blew up, the ground beneath me was  _ definitely  _ gonna give out, and I’d end up in the bottom of that pit with the rest of the people who’d gone missing.

“But just before it could detonate, there was this weird flash of blue behind it, and the creeper just...stopped. It fell over, stone dead. As it was dissolving into gunpowder, I noticed something sticking out of its back.”

Sapnap paused for dramatic effect; George saw Skeppy roll his eyes.

“It was the same exact dagger I’d given to that enderman two months before, broken blade and all. That enderman saved my life.”

Dream processed this for half a second before managing, somewhat skeptically, “Really? That’s all true?”

“Every word,” Sapnap confirmed with a quick nod.

“Trust us, it’s a true story,” monotoned Skeppy. “We’ve heard it way too many times for it not to be.”

“What did you do with the dagger?” asked Dream.

Sapnap took a bite of his rabbit. “Brought it home, cleaned it up, and left it on one of the windowsills at the forge. I thought that maybe it’d want the dagger back.”

“And?”

“Dagger was gone the next morning. I don’t think anyone else took it. It’s pretty small and would’ve been hard to spot in the middle of the night.”

Dream...didn’t really give a reply to that. He simply offered a nod and nibbled at his food thoughtfully, not really eating it.

Bad was happy to fill the lull in conversation. “You know, it’s really weird to hear stories about pre-Aggression endermen. They used to be really nice creatures. Like, you give one a pointless little trinket and it cherishes it so much that it wants to do something in return to thank you? That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda sad that the Aggression’s turned them this way,” remarked Sapnap. “I think about that enderman I ran into a lot nowadays, poor creature. Not gonna lie, it’s a reason I want to kill the Ender Dragon. Not the  _ main _ reason, of course. I want the endermen back to normal so that they don’t, you know,  _ eradicate the human race _ , but also because it’s just wrong. The Dragon has them under  _ her _ control. It’s not the endermen that’re killing off entire villages, it’s the  _ Dragon _ .”

George saw Dream shift a little, hanging a hand on his neck and curling his fingers into the short hairs on his neck’s base. He muttered something low and tense under his breath. Though George sat right next to him, he didn’t catch the words.

“Did you say something Dream?” asked Bad, craning his neck around to better see the wanderer’s face.

Jerkily, Dream shook his head. “Uh, no, it’s just...nothing. It’s nothing. Ignore me.” He stood abruptly, dusting off his trousers despite the fact there wasn’t very much dirt on them at all. “Excuse me for a minute.” And, after propping up his skewer on a rock, he hurried away, ducking around the corner of the cave’s entrance and out of sight.

The remaining five looked around at each other for a second or two before Fundy spoke up, voice low in volume as to not be overheard: “So that was weird.”

“Right?” Sapnap agreed. “What the hell was that all about? Was it something I said?”

“I don’t think so,” provided Bad, scratching his head. “He seemed worried, though.”

Skeppy nudged Bad in the shoulder and said, “Dream kinda looked like you when you, ya know…” He signed something fast and complicated that George didn’t follow.

Bad seemed to struggle to understand for a moment as well, for he squinted at Skeppy and slowly copied the movement, mouthing words until he realized, “Oh! Anxiety attack, you think?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Sapnap scoffed lightly. “Sorry, an anxiety attack?  _ Him _ ? Doesn’t seem like him at all.”

Bad frowned at Sapnap, as if disappointed. “Just because you don’t see someone struggling doesn’t mean that they aren’t.”

“And it... _ actually _ checks out,” George agreed. “He was telling me earlier that he’s not used to being around people for so long. Maybe he got overwhelmed?”

“He’s been traveling with us all day, and he’s been fine,” Fundy pointed out.

“Yeah, but he’s been acting a little off all evening.”

“Like when he zoned out earlier,” said Sapnap.

“Exactly.”

“So, what, it all just...compounded?” said Fundy.

“That’s what I’m thinking.” George’s eyes flickered to the entrance of the cave. Almost all of the daylight had vanished, and endermen were sure to be out and about soon. He hoped Dream hadn’t gone far.

“Well, I say we do what we can to make him comfortable,” said Bad. “He’s going to be with us for a while, so I’d hate to think we make him nervous. Just give him space and time. That’s what he needs.”

“How do you know?” asked Sapnap. The question wasn’t provocative; it was a genuine inquiry.

Bad took a bite of his food and chewed, thinking. When he swallowed, he said carefully, “I’ve been where Dream is now, assuming we’re right about him. People can be a little... _ much _ at times. Sometimes, you just need a break from people in general.” As he spoke, George noticed him lean a bit more to his side so his shoulder brushed against Skeppy’s. Skeppy leaned on Bad in return, though he kept his attention almost entirely on devouring his food.

Bad’s words seemed to settle the matter, and everyone returned to eating their dinner. There was a stifling silence following the discussion before Skeppy reintroduced conversation, broaching the question of who would be willing to take the first shift that night. It sparked a debate that quickly turned into a lighthearted argument about who needed more sleep and who was most likely to doze off during a shift - Fundy, obviously, though the man in question vehemently denied it.

It was at some point during this that Dream returned. They all tried not to be too awkward about it, electing to keep on ‘arguing’ as Dream slipped back into his spot between Bad and George. Wordlessly, he picked up his rabbit leg and started to pick at it here and there, though he seemed to have lost his appetite.

About half a minute into Dream’s return, Bad seamlessly redirected the conversation at hand to the wanderer, telling him, “Hey, Dream, we’re trying to figure out who’s going to take what shift tonight. Do you have any preferences?”

“Yeah, actually,” Dream answered just as causally. “I want a middle shift.”

“A middle shift?” echoed George. “You  _ want _ to get woken up in the middle of the night?”

“Uh-huh. I don’t sleep through the entire night, anyway. Bad practice in my trade. Someone’s gotta wake up to check on your camp at some point, and if you travel alone, that ‘someone’ is yourself.”

“So every night at, say, two AM, you just - wake up?” asked Skeppy.

“Yeah. I’ve got it worked into my internal clock. It’s like how you’re used to waking up at a certain time in the morning so you do it automatically.”

“Ha! No,” George laughed. “Sapnap and I have been doing dawn patrol for months and Bad  _ still _ comes over to our apartment every morning to wake us up. I’d get to sleep in if it weren’t for him.”

“As your captain, I have to make sure all of the soldiers of Southern Northwick are ready for dawn patrol by the given time,” said Bad, chin held high, “or else it reflects poorly on the Guard.” He lowered his head. “...However, as your friend, let me just say that I take great pleasure in being able to throw a pillow at your face every morning.”

“Trust me, I know. I have several months of pillows to the face to prove it.” 

George was surprised with how easily conversation flowed after that. Bad - as well as Skeppy - seemed to know exactly what to say in order to make Dream ‘more comfortable’, and Sapnap thankfully didn’t make any further comments. Dream himself seemed a good deal more relaxed than he had been about twenty minutes prior, albeit a touch more tired.

Though, Dream wasn’t the only one stifling yawns. George found himself growing sleepier by the minute, the day’s hard travel starting to catch up to him. They hadn’t ridden in the saddle the entire day, after all. It had been common for them to go for long walking spells in order to give the horses a break, lest the animals get overworked. Dream, evidently, was used to longer treks, but even he wasn’t immune to the siren call of a good night’s rest. They would have to be dimming the fires soon anyway, so might as well get ready to turn in for the night.

After all the food was consumed and the night shifts were finally decided, they set to preparing for bed, removing outerwear and rolling out sleeping bags. Without a proper fire going, the night was cold. They - apart from Dream - ended up pushing their sleeping bags together (and almost on top of each other) in order to preserve body heat. Skeppy took first watch, quietly setting up his redstone contraption at the mouth of the cave. George hardly knew a thing about redstone, but he trusted Skeppy not to accidentally blow them up...mostly.

Either way, the fire was dimmed to fading embers, a lantern was lit with the flame glowing weakly, and the sleeping bags were laid out. George took his spot between Sapnap and Fundy, and he settled in for their first night on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. They give me the confidence and motivation to keep writing and posting. Thanks for reading! <3


	8. Survivalist

George was a light sleeper. In Northwick, this wouldn't be too much of a problem. While the sound of monsters groaning as they lumbered through the unpatrolled streets was a racket, it didn’t quite carry all the way up to their second floor bedroom. Being on the second floor also meant that all the heat in the building would rise into their rooms, making it nice and warm at this time of year.

Unfortunately, George was not in Northwick. 

He never imagined the forest to be so  _ loud  _ at night: the crickets chirped, the animals called, the monsters groaned. Not only that, but George had forgotten the fact that Fundy snored like a clap of thunder. Oh, and it was cold, piled up sleeping bags notwithstanding. 

God, Dream  _ liked _ sleeping out here? Well, he wouldn’t have to deal with the snoring issue, George supposed…

Regardless, George did not get very much sleep that night. To make matters worse, he had also agreed to take the last shift of the night, meaning he would have to stay awake from four in the morning onwards. Fun.

Despite the fact that George could still hear the distant groan of zombies, the light of dawn eventually bled out into the forest. Of the group, Dream was the first one up; the wanderer popped awake at around 6:30 - literally  _ popped _ . There was no stirring, no shifting of the blankets or yawning. He went from dozing to sitting upright and alert in a span of about two seconds ( _ Was he even asleep in the first place…? _ ), hair frazzled and mask off-kilter. 

George blinked as he came to process that last thought. Dream’s  _ mask _ . George couldn’t recall the wanderer taking it off before heading to bed. That...couldn’t have been the least bit comfortable to sleep with.

As George’s eyes surveyed Dream, he found that the pale grin wasn’t the only thing the wanderer had slept with. “Is that a  _ knife _ ?” George hissed.

Dream startled and turned around to stare at George. “...No,” he whispered back, tucking the dagger into his sleeping bag. 

George would have inquired further, but he was really too tired to care. “...Alright then.” He planted his chin in the heel of his hand and went back to keeping watch.

The minutes ticked by about as slowly as they had for the past two and a half hours. George’s eyes flickered between the entrance of the cave and Dream, who had his knees hiked up in his sleeping bag as he stared at the wall ahead of him. The wanderer didn’t move for a very long time, and George wondered if he had managed to fall asleep sitting up. George could see his shoulders rise and fall in a slow, steady rhythm. Then, without much warning, Dream stood up and stretched his arms high above his head, rolling out his neck and cracking the joints in his shoulders. With a light sigh, he let his hands drop down to his side, and he set about preparing himself for the day.

George watched Dream with some curiosity as he surveyed his clothes, dusting out his evergreen coat and patchwork scarf, both of which he’d rolled up to use as a pillow. “You know, you still have a little time before we need to start packing up camp,” George whispered to him. “You don’t need to get up yet.”

“I’m not going to be able to fall back asleep, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Dream replied as he wound the scarf around his neck.

“No, but you could...I dunno, lay down for a bit, I guess?” George shrugged. “It was only a suggestion.”

“I’m up now, might as well get moving. I’m not putting on my armor yet, though.” He threw his coat over his shoulders, not bothering with the sleeves. “It’s too early in the morning to deal with forty-seven different straps and buckles.”

George chuckled lightly at that. “Yeah, I feel you. Getting geared up for dawn patrol sucks.”

“I could imagine.”

Dream spent the next few minutes rolling up his sleeping bag nice and tight to be secured to the saddles later that morning and slipped on his tattered leather boots. He then reached into his bag and took out his notebook and a charcoal pencil. He fingered through the tabs, muttering the names of the sections under his breath before opening to a particular page. From there, he unfolded his map. Then, he flipped back to another page and began writing, glancing between his notebook and the map with little twitches of his head.

“You do a lot of writing in that notebook of yours,” George commented.

“It’s what I do.”

“What’re you working on right now?”

“Just checking on a couple things for our route for today.” He flipped a page and made a note on his map, paused, erased what he’d written with the sleeve of his black undershirt, and jotted something else down.

“Can I see?”

Dream looked up at him, cocked his head to the side. Then, without another word, he gathered up his papers and brought them over to where George sat. He sat down beside the archer and laid out the charts and notes. The map itself was overflowing with details scratched in with that indecipherable penmanship, and the contents of the notebook were equally illegible. Dream didn’t seem to have a problem with glancing between the two, though.

George studied the map for a couple minutes and watched where Dream was putting notes and making adjustments. Eventually, George pointed to a spot he was confident about and asked, “I’m assuming this is us?”

“Yep.” Dream tapped it with the butt of his pencil. “That would be our current location. We’re far south and a little west of Northwick Village.”

George hummed, further studying the map. His hand gently traced some of the outlines of the chalk borders, careful not to smudge them. He saw a light green one encircling what he believed to be Northwick, and their alcove down south was in an odd little area in the overlap of two different colored borders, blue and light grey.

The sound of monsters groaning somewhere out in the Runica Forest reached his ears once again, and he had a thought. “These are Domains,” he realized.

“Mm-hm.”

“And we’re...in between two?”

“Stuck in the middle of two, more like: a pretty heavily populated Zombomain and a less densely populated Skelomain.” Dream made a mark on the map. “I’ve been fiddling this for a while now. I’m trying to see if there’s a good way to go about navigating the Domains’ borders while also sticking to the trails I know and not getting too off track.” He sighed, rubbing out the mark he’d made and writing it again, a little to the left. “So now I’m scouring my notes on the region to see if I noticed anything about the borders changing last time I passed through here.”

George observed the map and notes, the monster hunter in him piqued. “How do you monitor a change in a Domain’s borders if you can’t patrol at night?” George asked him, watching as he wiped away a small section of blue chalk and redrew it a little more to the east. “To record a Domain, you have to study the monsters’ behaviors when they’re all up and about.”

“I have a more roundabout way of doing it. I check for the marks the monsters leave on the environment. Zombomains have bits of rotten flesh scattered about, Skelomains have bones and arrows, Spidomains are covered in spiderwebs, and Creomains have a lot of craters and gunpowder residue left in them. I look for these signs, and I make note of them.”

“But that’s  _ hardly _ accurate,” George argued. “Domains are dominated by specific monster variants, but they’re not completely populated by one species. You could find creeper craters in a Skelomain, or bits of rotten flesh in a Spidomain. The only way to know for sure what Domain you’re in is to monitor their behavior at night and make a record of the specific monster populations for a specific area.”

“I’m not here tryna map out a brand new region,” Dream explained, chuckling awkwardly. “I’ve been around here before; I have a good idea of what the Domains are already. I’m just trying to record a  _ shift _ in the borders. The marks the monsters leave on the environment gives me enough information to get by. There’s no need to get all fancy with midnight watches and population records.”

George blinked, feeling a little dumb. “Oh.”

“Hey, you had the right idea,” Dream told him, tapping his map with his pencil again. “I’m assuming you’ve had to do midnight monster watches in Northwick?”

“Yeah, I have. We did them pretty frequently, back when it was safe to be out at night - at least twice a month. It was to monitor the shifts in the Creomain surrounding the town and the Skelomain and Spidomain pushing up on the borders.”

“That’s a lot of area to cover. The Northwestern Creomain is pretty massive. My simpler strategy probably wouldn’t work all too well up there if you wanted to be time-efficient. It definitely works if you’re just one person trying to check out a smaller area, though.”

Dream turned the page, and he sighed, disappointed. “But it looks like there hasn’t been a lot of change in this region since I last passed through. So much for that idea.” And he shut the notebook with finality.

The map stayed out, though, much to George’s delight. He was really starting to take an interest in the colorful markings scattered around the complicated chart, even if he couldn’t really understand the handwriting or coordinate points. He came to an oblong area outlined in violet chalk that started in the northeast and headed south, branching out to the west from its midsection. “This is what you were talking about yesterday,” he recalled. “An Enderman Domain, right?”

“Yup. The Mid-Eastern Endomain, to be exact.” Dream traced part of the Domain’s borders. “Pretty massive, isn’t it?”

“ _Absolutely_ massive. I don’t think I’ve seen any sort of Domain reach so far.” He looked to Dream. “And you’ve been tracking this thing _by_ _yourself_?”

“Uh-huh. What did you think I’ve been doing all this time?”

“I thought you said you’ve been traveling with no destination.”

“Can’t really  _ have _ a destination if you’re tracking something that doesn’t move with much of a destination in mind. Besides, this isn’t the  _ only _ thing I’ve been doing. I’ve been looking for more info on endermen too.”

George surveyed the complicated network of trails, regions, markers, and coords laid out in front of him, and he looked to the notebook, which was bursting at the seams. “Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

Dream shrugged. “It’s something to do. There aren’t many people willing to waste resources on commissioning explorers nowadays, since traveling is a deathwish for most, so I’ve been operating independently since the Aggression hit.”

The archer gave him a flat look. “So you’re unemployed.”

“Well, okay, when you say it like  _ that _ \- ”

“Oh God, I was just kidding, but you’re actually - ?”

“‘Unemployed’, yeah, sure,” said Dream, chuckling awkwardly once more. “It - It just sounds so  _ negative  _ when you say it, though. I like to think of it as...in between jobs. I’ve still got a skill I can use, and I’m using it right now, it’s just not making me any money at the moment. But, once the Aggression ends, people are going to need notes and charts to document history and get a layout of the changed land. That’s where I’ll come in.” 

“Is that why you want to end the Aggression?” George ventured lightly. “Need to start taking jobs again?”

Dream cocked his head consideringly. “Maybe. I guess it’s part of it. I don’t really explore for the money, though. It’s just a byproduct and a means to an end, but I can definitely survive without a proper income.”

George processed this, trying to think. “That’s an... _ odd _ way of living,” he managed.

“You’re not the first to say so,” Dream sighed, dropping his chin into his hand.

Something about Dream’s posture gave George the impression that he had offended the wanderer somehow. Looking to make amends for whatever misstep he’d taken during that conversation, he redirected his attention to the map and asked about something he thought Dream would find a little more interesting: “How do you track Endomains?”

Dream paused, probably noting the blatant change in subject, but eventually answered, “Same way as I’d manually track any other Domain - look for signs, record the regions I find the signs in, check for areas with a higher intensity, mark out the approximate borders. Rinse and repeat.”

“Yeah, but what signs do you look for?”

“You...really don’t know...” said the wanderer.

The comment seemed to be more to himself than to George, but he responded anyway: “Of course I don’t. I didn’t even know Endomains existed until you showed up.”

“Right…” He stared at George a moment longer, then took out his notebook and flipped through the tabs. He came to the section he had been so intently focused on last night, George catching a glimpse of the enderman sketch before he turned to another page. Though most of it was illegible to George, there was no mistaking the word ‘ENDOMAINS’ written out at the top in bold letters. 

The section consisted of mostly drawings and captions. The diagrams depicted ruined homes with missing walls, land dotted with potholes, trees marred with splintered hollows, and clearings in forests that were nothing but dirt and debris and withering vegetation. Villages smouldered in the bottom right half of the second page; beside the sketch was a list of towns, the more recent names squeezed in as the available space steadily shrank.

“This is what Endomains look like?” said George, studying the drawings. 

“It’s what you can find in them. The damage gets more intense the further in you go.” He shifted a little, taking his pencil out and pointing to the drawings. “The thing about endermen is that they don’t just destroy villages. They  _ disassemble _ them. Once everything of value is taken, they start tearing apart houses and stripping them of their foundations. I’ve seen buildings where it looks like something just picked up an entire room and walked away with it. They pick apart forests too, and eventually, there’s nothing left there to take. That’s how you get ‘dead ends’.”

“You said yesterday that dead ends were safe, right?”

“Yeah. Think of a dead end as the eye of a storm. They’re deep into Endomain territory, and no endermen go near them since there’s nothing of interest for them there. If you’re smart and really, really careful, you could even go as far as to set yourself up there. You’d just have to monitor the enderman activity to make sure none of them are wandering too close.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

“What do you think they do with all the stuff they take?”

“Oh, hell if I know.”

“Maybe they’re building something,” said a voice from behind.

The two of them turned around to find that Bad was sitting up in his sleeping bag, leaning back on his hands as the others still dozed peacefully around him.

George stared at him. “...How long have you been awake?”

“Uh, ten minutes? You guys are loud.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I needed to wake up, anyway. It’s nearly seven.”

George glanced down at his screen

  
  


_ TIME _

_ -> 6:57 AM _

  
  


“Oh. So it is.”

Bad opened his mouth to say something, but a distant groan drifted in from somewhere in the woods. The captain’s mouth closed, perplexed, before he finally said, “I’m not the only one who’s hearing that, right?”

George shook his head. “No, I hear it too.  _ Been  _ hearing it, actually. Those monsters have been hanging around since five in the morning. I never did anything about them since they never came towards our camp.”

“But now we’re going to have to get the horses through,” sighed Bad.

“We could just wait for them to burn up.”

“Not likely,” said Dream. “If those zombies haven’t burnt up yet, then they’re not going to for a while. The woodlands are too thick. We’d have to wait at least another two hours if we wanted the sunlight to be strong enough to get through the branches.”

“They’ll have to be cleared out, then,” Bad decided. “Can you guys gear up and take care of the monsters? I want to stay here to get the others moving.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said George. “Dream?”

“I don’t see why not.” The wanderer gave George half a grin. “Who knows? Could be fun.”

George and Dream spent the next few minutes pulling on their gear for the day. George had never gotten a good look at Dream’s equipment before since he always wore that evergreen coat, but when Dream finished putting on his armor long before George had, the archer really got a sense of how.. _ undergeared _ Dream was. His protection, upon closer inspection, consisted of tattered iron-leather plackart and pauldrons, padded leather cuisses, his well-loved boots, and dark brown fabric wrapped thick around his forearms. He didn’t even have a proper arm guard for handling a bow. At least he had gloves to protect his hands. 

George surveyed himself, saw the faint otherworldly glow of enchantments dancing over the diamond-reinforced iron plating protecting his chest. His and the others’ armor had been designed by Sapnap to be simple and light for long-distance travel but also strong enough to protect them should they run into trouble. Sapnap had spent the past several weeks working alongside Fundy to get their gear ready to go. Dream looked like he’d cobbled his armor together last-minute, but George knew this was the same gear Dream had worn when he first met the wanderer. 

“Something the matter?” Dream inquired lightly when George had stared at him for a beat too long.

George snapped out of it. “No, nothing. Just thinking.”

As he finished adjusting the straps and buckles, George made a mental note to never complain about having to gear up ever again.

There was a chilling bite to the breeze drifting through Runica Forest that morning; George pulled his crimson scarf a little higher up on his neck. He knew that it wouldn’t be long before the sun burned away the nighttime air, but the lingering coolness was a reminder of the change in seasons. Some high winds the previous week seemed to have finally wrenched summer’s deathgrip from Northern Othana, and it was only going to get cooler from then on out. The leaves on the trees had been changing for weeks as well. It truly was a beautiful sight, the rainbow of reds and oranges and yellows blurring together in a mosaic the color of sunsets. The golden light of morning only added to the splendor.

George kept his goggles down as he and Dream carried on through the woods, deciding it was best not to chance it should there be any dawn drifters. George hadn’t seen any indication of an enderman’s presence during his watch that night. From what he could recall from Dream’s map, they were still a decent distance out from the Mid-Eastern Endomain. Of course, that didn’t mean that there was zero chance of running into endermen, but it certainly made the chances far, far less. 

Finding the source of the groaning proved to be less simple than they had originally thought. George knew that zombies could be loud, and their voices could easily carry in woodland areas, so he really shouldn’t have been surprised when it was taking them more than two minutes to locate the monsters in question. He and Dream elected to move in a sweeping route, traveling back and forth parallel to the alcove’s entrance and working their way south of their campsite until they could establish a general direction to take based on the sound of the monsters’ calls.

A few more minutes passed, and they came across a discolored clump in the middle of their path. From the smell alone, George could tell what it was - a hunk of rotted flesh, something that had probably once been a limb but was decayed beyond recognition.

Dream stepped forward and drew his dagger. He poked at the limb with the butt of his knife, then flipped it over to reveal a small pool of blood congealing beneath it. He used the blade to test the state of the liquid gore.

“Undried, unsolidified, and still flowing from the limb,” observed Dream, wiping the blood off his dagger in the grass.

“Fresh,” George summarized. “We’re headed in the right direction.”

Dream nodded his agreement and stood. Together, they continued on their way through the woodlands.

Several more minutes passed, and George was about to ask Dream if they’d possibly made a mistake when Dream silently held out a hand to stop. George opened his mouth to comment, thought better of it, and remained quiet. Dream’s attention was kept straight ahead, and though it was difficult to tell exactly where he was looking with the mask blocking his eyes, he did his best to follow the wanderer’s line of sight.

Forty meters out, a group of zombies milled about in the shade on the edge of a small clearing. There were four monsters that George could see, but he was willing to bet there were - 

His ears picked up on the sound of gentle rattling and a bow being loaded.

George didn’t even think. His hands flew to where his shield was strapped to his back and jumped to cover Dream’s six. The shaft made a dull  _ ‘thump!’  _ as it buried itself in the wooden boards. Without needing to say a word, Dream took out his battered bow and swiftly put an arrow straight into the skeleton’s skull. The impact caused the creature to stumble back. Two more skeletons - each bearing some tattered leather gear - emerged from the shadows to join their companion.

Outnumbered, the pair separated and dove behind a tree each, narrowly avoiding the first volley of arrows. As the skeletons were reloading, George took the time to finish off the first skeleton, burying three more arrows in its head while Dream set about weakening the other two. The leather armor the skeletons wore offered little to no protection, but it was enough to dampen the impact of their shots. Skeletons - as far as anyone knew - did not feel pain and therefore had to be completely incapacitated in order to defeat them; they wouldn’t flee. There were a handful of strategies that hunters like George used, most of them relying on the brittle state of the monsters’ bones.

A well-placed arrow in a skeleton’s collarbone, for example, was enough to shatter the joint and delay a skeleton’s attack. George took the shot, and his aim held true, sending one of the answering arrows off in a wide arc where it was lost to the vegetation. Dream, meanwhile, went for a more forward strategy, advancing by darting between trees and firing shots at the skeleton’s sternum to destabilize its structure. George moved positions as well to get a better angle on his target’s face. He shot two arrows into one skeleton’s head while Dream put a shaft through the neck of the other.

In unison, they jumped for a killing blow. George shot one last arrow through his target’s eye socket, and Dream rushed forward, dispatching his own adversary by whipping out his long-bladed dagger and using the blunt hilt of the grip to obliterate what remained of the vile creature’s neck. Its skull landed on the floor with a thud, and its body crumbled to a pile of lifeless bones; George’s did the same.

George drew in a breath and willed the adrenaline rush to die off, lest it leave him exhausted afterwards. There was no reason to waste energy on a handful of skeletons.

He watched Dream tuck his dagger into its sheath and lean back, shoulders relaxing as he realized the threat was taken care of. The wanderer turned to George and offered a lopsided smile. George could tell there was some snarky comment dancing on his lips, but his grin suddenly dropped and he reached out: “Oh shit  _ move _ \- ”

George asked no questions and darted to the side just in time for the zombie that had snuck up from behind to grab at open air. Dream put an arrow in its face, causing the foul-smelling thing to recoil with a guttural cry.

Evidently, their shootout with the skeletons had attracted the attention of the zombie horde they had been spying on earlier. Six zombies emerged from the trees, lumbering forward with their gnarled arms outreached. Without warning, all of them lunged. George and Dream were forced to fall back lest they risk getting scratched or bitten.

George knew every horde had a certain temperament, and this one clearly meant business. They were forward with their attacks, reaching and jumping at every chance they got. George tried to play to his strengths by keeping his distance and steadily emptying his quiver into their heads. Unlike skeletons, these creatures could feel pain, and the longer they were in a fight, the more erratic their movements became.

Dream was also attempting to keep his distance, staying right beside George as they brought them down, arrow by arrow. This would have worked if it weren’t for one little problem - Dream’s half-full quiver was not nearly enough. George saw the wanderer reach for an arrow, only to find that he’d used up his last projectile.

George was about to pull a fistful of shafts from his own quiver to give to Dream, but the wanderer seemed to be taking matters into his own hands. Muttering something about inflated arrow prices, Dream gripped his bow by the riser, stalked forward, and - 

_ Wait, what the hell - ? _

With no hesitation, Dream swung his bow around and  _ bashed _ it through the side of a zombie’s neck. The resulting crash sent a spray of putrid blood and rotted flesh, though Dream showed no signs of slowing down. He sidestepped a swinging arm and brought his bow around again, hitting the offending creature square in the chest.

George, bewildered, nocked another arrow and demanded, “What the everloving fuck are you doing?!”

Dream bludgeoned another zombie on the side of its head, sending it crashing to the floor. “Improvising!”

“Improvising?! You’re going to break your - !”

_ CRACK! _

The bow snapped clean in two against a zombie’s shoulder.

Dream froze for half a beat, staring at the end of his ruined weapon. He glanced up at George, mouth parted in shock. 

And then, he started to  _ fucking laugh _ . “O-o-oh, shit - !”

George shot an arrow into the head of the zombie Dream had been attacking, effectively saving the dumbass from getting bitten by those foul teeth. “What did I  _ just _ say?!”

Dream just laughed even harder, wheezing as he pulled his blade from his belt and used it to slash a zombie’s throat. While the creature was stunned, George fired one last arrow into its skull. The zombie collapsed into a heap on the floor with a horrid cry.

George put his bow away and stared daggers at Dream, who stood amid the corpses, breathless with laughter. “What were you  _ thinking _ ?!” the archer demanded. “That’s no way to treat a bow!”

“I-I was low on options,” Dream managed between gasping breaths, “but h-holy fuck, George, your  _ face _ \- ”

“You think this is funny?!”

Dream doubled over, wheezing.

George was  _ fuming _ , every fibre of his archer-being absolutely disgusted by the blatant display of negligence and cruelty that had befallen the poor weapon the wanderer now held the remains of. But the sheer absurdity of the situation and Dream’s frankly  _ ridiculous _ laugh forced a baffled chuckle to rise out of George unbidden. And after one chuckle came two, and then three, and before he knew it, George was cackling right alongside Dream. What was the joke? George wasn’t sure, but  _ goddamn _ , if it wasn’t the funniest thing in the entire world.

Dream’s laugh was the most contagious disease George had ever caught. Every time he thought he was getting a hold of himself, Dream would wheeze out some half-formed sentence and the two of them would spiral into laughter all over again. George had to lean on a tree to keep himself upright, head pleasantly dizzy from lack of air and ribs aching in the best way possible. 

Several minutes later, George  _ finally  _ managed to get a grip, and he forced a steady breath in and out. A few chuckles still escaped him, but he did his best to swallow them down. Dream appeared to be collecting himself as well, reaching under the left side of his mask as if to wipe away tears. “Oh my god…” the wanderer exhaled, “oh…” He giggled, shaking his head.

George drew in another breath, swallowed another laugh, and asked, “So what the hell was  _ that _ all about?”

“I already told you,” said Dream, looking up with a massive grin stretched across his lips, “I was out of options. I had to do  _ something _ .”

“You do realize that I have arrows, right?”

Dream waved a hand. “No need. I had this.” He lifted up his snapped weapon, the other end of which dangled lamely by the bowstring.

“Are you fucking serious? You’ve broken your bow and - ” George craned his neck a little to the side, as if looking to Dream’s back - “I don’t see another weapon over there.”

Dream chuckled a little. “Relax, George. I got this off the skeleton that attacked Bad two days ago, so it was on the verge of breaking anyway. If I hadn’t used it like I had, then it would’ve broken on me mid-fight which, ouch, no thank you.”

“But that’s no reason to treat it like a goddamn club, you heathen.”

“Maybe so - ” he dropped the ruined weapon among the monster bodies and dusted off his hands - “but I might as well. Monster weapons are garbage most of the time. And speaking of monster weapons...” He stepped out from the middle of the carnage and went to inspect the skeletons they’d felled a few minutes prior. “Time to get myself a new bow, wouldn’t you say?”

George watched him, mind still reeling. “Do you ever carry any  _ proper _ weapons, or do you just scavenge off monsters?”

“I’m ‘unemployed’, remember? Do you really think I ever have enough money on my person at any given time to commission or buy a man-made weapon?” He picked up one of the bows and held it in his hand, testing the feel of its weight before setting it down and checking out one of the others. “Everything I get is foraged or, if I’m desperate, stolen.” 

Dream, satisfied with the weapon he’d chosen, put the skeleton’s bow on the straps wound over his shoulders and back. After he’d scooped up all the arrows from the skeletons’ quivers, he came over to the zombies and started to look them over as well, using the blade of his dagger to nudge arms out of the way as he searched. “Money isn’t something I come across often nowadays, but sometimes…” 

He checked one zombie’s trouser pockets - nothing. 

“...Sometimes…”

He checked another’s belt pouch - nothing.

“... _ Some _ times…”

He checked a third’s coat pocket, and a grin split his face as he produced a little purse that tinkled with the familiar clink of emeralds and iron bits.

“...I get lucky.”

He stashed the pouch in his satchel for safe keeping.

“Anyway, are you going to help me collect arrows or what?”

Dream might have clearly been the bane of any self-respecting archer, but at least he followed at least one golden rule of archery: conserve arrows. It was common practice for archers to gather up any good arrows following a fight or battle should the situation prove appropriate. George had quickly learned that an archer’s greatest weakness - and therefore greatest adversary - was their limited ammunition. The only place that George thought that they would be able to purchase more arrows would be Golestiera, and while he could fashion some rudimentary projectiles out of some feathers, flint, sticks, and string, he really didn’t want it to come to that. Arrow conservation would be very important in the coming days.

“When you do have money,” George said, yanking a shaft out of a zombie’s shoulder, “what do you use it on?”

“Potions, mostly,” answered Dream, “usually simpler ones you can get for cheap. Basic antidotes, or the kind of stuff that helps you deal with the pain so you can treat the wounds yourself. Full-on health pots are too expensive for what I’ve got. Other than that, necessities: bandages, arrows, redstone for my Screen. I used some money I had to buy myself a shield yesterday, actually.” He reached back and patted the object in question. “I figured I’d want to have something other than a beat-up bow.”

“Do you ever splurge?”

“I bought a shield and stayed at an inn for two nights in a row. I’d call that splurging.”

A few minutes later, they’d gathered up all the salvageable projectiles. With both of their quivers looking a whole lot better than they had before, they left the site of the carnage and set off for camp. Dream spent some time trying to brush some of the gore off his clothes, only to find that most of it had dried and stubbornly clung to his gear. “Shit, and I  _ just  _ got all this cleaned up.”

“You’re going to need at  _ least _ water to wash that out,” remarked George, making a face at the gore stains on the wanderer’s coat.

“That shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll definitely be stopping at another creek at some point today. Guess I’ll -  _ ooo… _ ” Dream, who had started to shrug, suddenly winced and put a hand to his shoulder, hissing lightly. “ _ Euf _ , nope,  _ bad _ move...”

“Are you alright?” asked George, stopping alongside Dream.

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m good,” Dream assured him, rubbing the joint with his hand as he brought his shoulder around in careful circles. “My shoulder’s just being funny is all. Gets stiff after fights sometimes. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, old injury?” George guessed.

Dream winced, exhaling again. “Kinda, yeah.”

George observed the slight grimace twisting Dream’s lips as he rolled out his shoulder and asked, “Is there...anything I can do about it, or...?”

“I’ll take care of it when we get back to camp,” Dream said tersely. 

George hesitated but replied, “Alright, if you’re sure.”

With no further comment, they carried on.

When they arrived back at the alcove, George was glad to see that the horses had already been tacked up and were just about ready to go. Bad was putting the last bridle on while Skeppy and Sapnap were finagaling with a particularly stubborn latch on one of the saddlebags. Fundy, meanwhile, was taking stock of his potion supply.

Skeppy was the first to notice their arrival. “You’re back!” Then, he made a face at Dream. “Eugh, dude, what happened to your clothes?”

Dream shrugged (with his good shoulder). “We found the zombie horde. The coast is clear for the horses.”

Fundy looked up and grimaced as well. “Yes,  _ obviously _ .”

“What, did you roll around in the corpses when you were done?” asked Sapnap, wrinkling his nose.

George lifted his goggles onto his head and gestured to the wanderer. “He decided that it would be a good idea to use his bow like a bat and _hit_ the zombies. The bow broke, by the way.”

Skeppy let out a surprised laugh. “I’m sorry, you  _ WHAT _ ?”

“Dream, why would you do that?” demanded the captain, clearly appalled. “That’s no way to treat your weapon!”

“ _ Right _ ?” George agreed.

“Okay, okay, hold on,” Dream cut in, holding up a hand. “I don’t think you’re getting the full picture here…”

They argued about it for the next several minutes while George and Dream finished getting ready with the others. In the end, they came to a stalemate because Dream refused to see the error of his ways, and he solidified himself, in George’s mind, as the most un-archer-like archer George had ever met.

It was sometime before 8 AM when they were getting ready to mount their horses and start off for the day. George came to the other side of their horse to find Dream wrestling with his patchwork scarf. He had it draped over his shoulder and was in the process of looping it around the aching joint without further aggravating it which, by the way his mouth was twisted up, was proving to be more challenging than the wanderer had anticipated.

“Do you need a hand?” George offered.

Dream, who had yet to acknowledge his presence, looked up. “Oh. Uh, sure.”

George took the ends of the scarf into his hands. “What exactly do you want me to do here?”

“Just wind it around one more time, pull it firm, and tie it loosely. I find the pressure helps with the soreness.” 

George did as the wanderer asked, looping it over his shoulder one more time and pulling it so it hugged the aching joint. He wasn’t really sure how effective the remedy was. Weren’t you supposed to avoid pressure on aching joints? Must’ve been something with the muscles in his shoulder, George supposed.

Once the scarf was tied off, Dream reached up with one of his hands to adjust the fabric, shifting it so it was more evenly distributed across his shoulder. “Thanks,” he said, strapping his left pauldron on over the scarf. He carefully rolled out his shoulder once more and nodded to himself, satisfied.

“What’s taking you two so long?” Skeppy called from where he sat atop his and Bad’s horse. “We’ve gotta go, guys.”

George looked to Dream. “I was planning on teaching you how to mount from the ground, but your shoulder - ”

“I can do it,” Dream insisted. “Show me how.”

Though he was skeptical, George showed Dream how to hold the reins in one hand and come around so he was properly facing the front of the horse. With some maneuvering, Dream got his foot in the stirrup and managed to get his other leg over the saddle on the second try. 

“Nice,” George commented, swinging himself up into the back saddle and taking the reins from Dream. “At this rate, you’ll be riding for competition in no time.”

Dream chuckled weakly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Once they were all settled, Dream gave them a direction to start in, and they set off for their second day in the wilds of Othana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading, and thanks for all the comments and kudos. See you all next week!


	9. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE I FORGET (again): GOOD LUCK TO ANYONE PARTICIPATING IN NANOWRIMO! I KNOW THAT WORD COUNT LOOKS SCARY AS FUCK BUT I HAVE FAITH IN YOU!!! YOU GOT THIS :D!!!!!

“Today isn’t going to be easy,” Dream began as he explained what he had plotted out for the day’s route. “We’ve come to the point where avoiding the Mid-Eastern Endomain would do a lot more harm than good.”

“Already?” said Fundy, looking up from the arrow he was drawing a rune onto. “We haven’t been traveling for very long.”

“The Endomain is a lot bigger than you’d think. I’ve already done all that I can to keep us out of its borders, so now we have to start the process of passing through. I’m doing my best to keep us to the edges where it’s not as dangerous, but if we want to get to Golestiera in a timely fashion, then we’ll have to cut clean through.”

“I thought avoiding the Endomain was the whole point of veering off the Main Road,” Skeppy spoke up, shooting Dream a confused look. “Isn’t passing through a death wish?”

“Only if you don’t know what you’re doing.” George saw Dream tap at his Screen, then look back to the folded map he’d balanced on his lap. “Luckily, I do.”

“What’s the plan, then?” George prompted.

“We have a couple options, actually, but in the end, we’re going to be spending the night in a little settlement I passed through a month ago.”

“Settlement?” echoed Sapnap.

“Yeah, Juno Settlement. It consists of all the survivors of Juno Village. They were attacked in early August, but a good number of people were able to evacuate before things got too bad. They’re rebuilding about seven kilometers from where the village used to be, and they’re... _relatively_ open to travelers. I’m pretty sure we could figure out a way to spend the night there.”

“ _Pretty_ sure?”

“As sure as I can be. They’re really our only option.”

“Why not make camp somewhere else?” suggested Fundy as he smudged out a mistake on the arrow and adjusted the reins sitting in his lap. “There’s nothing stopping us from doing what we did last night, is there?”

Dream winced. “Well, uh, there _is_ : the Endomain.”

“I’m...not sure I follow.”

“Okay, let me start over.” Dream unfolded his map and tried to lift it up to show the others, but he stopped short and hissed lowly, aching shoulder protesting. 

“Are you alright?” prompted Bad. “You didn’t hurt yourself when clearing the monsters earlier, did you?”

“No no, I’m fine, just uhh…”

George saw him fumbling and stepped in with a solution of his own. He lifted his hands up higher, drawing Dream’s attention to the reins he grasped on either side of him. “Trade?”

Dream hesitated for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah, trade.” The top corners of the map were folded together to hand over to George while the reins were passed on to Dream. Once George was sure that Dream was holding the reins right, he unfolded the map and held it up for the rest of the group to see.

“Okay,” Dream exhaled. “You see the large area outlined in purple? That’s the Mid-Eastern Endomain. We are right about - ” He reached over with his right hand to briefly point - “here. As you can see, the section of the Endomain we’re coming up on stretches from east to west. We can’t head east, because that’ll take us back to the Main Road, and trying to go west to completely circumnavigate the terrain would take us almost a week. That means our best option is to pass through, straight down south of where we are right now. This will take us through the Endomain. We’ll definitely be passing through the heart of it, but I’ve taken us in a direction that’s sure to be the safest way to pass through.

“Do you all remember dead ends?”

“Safe zones, right?” Fundy recalled.

“Exactly - and you find them scattered around deep into Endomain territory. I have a log of dozens of dead ends, ranging in shapes and sizes on the west side of the Mid-Eastern Endomain. The closest one to where we are right now is where you’ll find Juno Settlement. They’re a small enough community to hide in plain sight, right on the outskirts of the Endomain’s heart. We can spend the night there, and then when morning comes, we’ll go about navigating the rest of the heart of the Endomain, passing through as many dead ends as we can. 

“By noon of tomorrow, we’ll be out of the Endomain’s heart, and by tomorrow evening, out of the Endomain altogether. Then, it’s a straight shot through the Venz Grasslands to Golestiera.”

“You make it sound simple,” said Bad. “I have a feeling it’s not.”

“Oh, definitely not. It’s still going to be a risk, but one that’s worth taking. Navigating all the way around the Mid-Eastern Endomain makes for so many issues, and not just ones with time. There’s a pretty nasty Spidomain to the west, and the terrain is...less than traversable, let’s say.”

“How untraversable?” asked Sapnap.

“Depends. What’s your opinion on ravines?”

“Aaaand that’s all I need to know.”

“Do I need to keep holding this up?” George complained. “My arms are getting tired.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, you’re good. Trade back?”

“Yup.”

Once more, the map was folded up and handed over, and George took control of the reins. Dream checked his compass and glanced at his Screen before tucking the map into his satchel for safe keeping.

“You said earlier that we had options,” Bad recalled as George was getting his arms settled around Dream’s sides again.

“Right,” agreed Dream, “I did say that. And...well here’s the thing: I’m going to explain to you guys what our options are, plain and simple, and _then_ I’m going to give you my honest opinion as a person who’s had to deal with this terrain for months.”

“Oh-kay...?” Skeppy replied slowly, raising an eyebrow. “That’s kind of how these things work, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it gets a little tricky, so just bear with me.” 

Dream took a deep breath, as if organizing his thoughts, then began, “On our way to Juno Settlement, we have two options regarding a place called...well, okay, _I_ know it as the Fire Flats, but I think other regions know it as Crasmere Field...? Does that ring any bells?”

A flood of memories slammed George ( _Raven hair and oaken eyes; a fierce smile and a crimson scarf; well wishes and pinky promises -_ ), and he nearly dropped the reins. “Pillager’s Barrow…” he breathed.

“What?”

“Pillager’s Barrow,” Bad repeated, louder. “That’s what we call it in Northwick.”

“Oh, because of the pillager towers?”

“Northwick and our neighbors went to war with the Crasmere Pillagers a little over a decade ago,” Sapnap explained. “Our Guard was the one to finally do them in.” George saw his friend give him a look out of the corner of his eye. “They’re the reason there’s no more pillagers destroying towns in the region.”

George gripped the reins tighter and willed the unwelcome influx of unpleasant memories to cease. ( _\- daylight on an empty bed; horse hooves on the cobbled streets -_ )

He really hadn’t thought about that morning in such a long time. Why did it still make him sad just to hear the name? He was over it. He _knew_ he was over it.

“That’s incredible,” remarked Dream, genuine interest lacing through his words. “I had known that the Crasmere Pillagers out here had been eradicated, but I hadn’t thought it would be Northwick - no offense.”

“None taken,” Bad said before Sapnap could reply. “We know we don’t look like much right now, but we had _and_ have a very dedicated Guard.”

George exhaled softly and decided to just let the memories run their course. Though, that didn’t stop his chest from aching as he recalled those words.

( _“Don’t worry about a thing, my little soldier, I’ll be home before the end of the month. Hold down the fort for me while I’m gone, okay? I love you.”_ )

The Darkwood Bow burned his back. The damn thing weighed nearly a thousand pounds.

“So what’s the deal with Pillager’s Barrow?” asked Skeppy. “Shouldn’t we be able to just pass right through? It’s an empty wasteland now.”

Dream winced. “Not anymore. There might not be any pillagers living there, but there’s definitely a good deal of crooks and criminals hanging about. Towards the beginning of the Aggression, they figured out that the Fire Flats was a place frequented by travelers since it’s pretty open and relatively free of enderman - it’s like one massive dead end - so they started squatting on the usual paths and roads. I nearly got caught by a group of bandits last time I passed through, and the only reason I got away was because I was able to hide. With the horses, we won’t have that option if we choose to go through.”

“So that’s our choice,” realized George. “Go through or go around.”

“Well, go around, obviously,” said Sapnap, shrugging. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’d rather not get mugged.”

“We _are_ carrying a lot of valuable supplies,” agreed Bad, gesturing to their loaded saddlebags. “Potions for injuries, gold for the Nether, enchanted gear - we’re prime targets for criminals.”

“There’s a catch,” Fundy said. He brought his horse closer to them so he could drop the completed arrow into George’s quiver and take out another one to draw runes on. “There’s always a catch with these sorts of things.”

Dream nodded grimly. “By the time we reach the Fire Flats, we’ll already be within the Endomain. The entire area is surrounded by Endomain territory, actually, and because the Fire Flats run east to west, going around would take much, much longer than crossing it.”

“How much longer?” asked Bad.

“On horseback? I’d say it’d take around two, two and a half hours to go around. Cutting across would take no more than forty-five minutes if you stick to the established paths.”

Fundy whistled. “That’s quite the difference.”

“An _important_ difference,” Dream added pointedly. “A couple extra hours to our travel time today will bring us to Juno Settlement dangerously close to sundown. If we run into any problems while going around the Fire Flats, we could be out on the road after dark, and trust me, you do _not_ want to do that in an Endomain. Traveling at night is just downright stupid.”

“So then there’s crossing Pillager’s Barrow,” said Bad.

“Right.”

“And exactly _how_ many bandits are there?”

Dream grimaced at the thought. “Enough so that pretty much everyone has sworn off using the Fire Flats’ roads save for yours truly.”

“Why do you use the roads if they’re so dangerous?” asked George as the group rounded a bend. He maneuvered their horse over some gnarled tree roots. “You would know its reputation better than anyone, wouldn’t you?”

“I use the Fire Flat roads because they’re fast and direct,” Dream said firmly. “I’d rather take my chances with the bandits than with the endermen, and in my honest opinion, you should too.” He paused, then sighed and shook his head minutely. “Though, I won’t lie to you: people have been killed out there on the Flats. It’s a dangerous place to be as a traveler - but it’s our _safest_ bet.”

“Hold on, lemme get this straight,” interrupted Sapnap, putting a hand to his forehead and closing his eyes as if staving off a headache. “You want _us_ , with our four horses loaded up with overstuffed saddlebags, to waltz around bandit central for forty-five minutes?” He scoffed bitterly. “Yeah, I don’t think so, buddy.”

“But you’re not getting my point,” argued Dream. “Endermen are no joke - ”

“We _know_ they’re no joke - ”

“ - and none of you have ever been in an Endomain before,” Dream plowed on, “least of all at night. I made that mistake once, and it nearly cost me my life. Getting torn apart by an enderman is not a good way to go.”

“But being mugged and murdered is?” 

“I never said that - ”

“Then what _are_ you saying?” 

“That you don’t understand,” Dream snapped, words turning sharp, like bits of broken glass. “You don’t understand what endermen do to people, what they _force_ people to do.”

“Uh, I _think_ we do,” Sapnap shot back. “You stayed in Northwick, you saw what it’s like: curfews, blackouts, guards constantly patrolling the streets, unending fear, missing people, animals slaughtered, a failing economy - ”

“ _No_ ,” Dream snarled. He snatched the reins from George’s hands and yanked them back, forcing the horse to stop. The others pulled their reins and halted as well, confused.

Dream pointed an accusing finger at Sapnap. “ _You_ have not seen what those monsters have done,” he growled. “ _You_ have not found bodies among the smoldering ruins of what had once been a town. _You_ have not encountered wayward families lost in the woods with nowhere else to go. _You_ have not watched an entire community of people be forced to completely start over. _You do not know_ what happens to you when - ”

And like the breath had been snatched from his lungs, Dream stopped. His mouth clamped shut, and he looked away, at anything but the rest of the group. A hand ran its fingernails along the back of his neck, scratching at nothing. Sapnap, meanwhile, looked on with a hardened expression, though George knew him well enough to tell that he was startled.

There was a moment of pregnant silence where no one was sure of what to say, _if_ there was anything that could be said at all. The light tinkle of birdcall and the sigh of the morning breeze through the tree branches were the only sounds bold enough to break the quiet.

Finally, Bad spoke up. “Dream, how long do we have before we’ve got to make a decision?”

Dream drew in a breath, released it. “We have about three hours of travel before we reach the Fire Flats.”

“Okay then,” the captain said slowly, his firm gaze flickering to each and every one of them. “How about this: we _think_ about our options for a while, and then we come to a decision when we need to. How does that sound to everyone?” 

Wordlessly, the group nodded.

“Alright. Cool.” Bad kicked his horse and brought them back into motion. “Let’s keep going.”

The stifling silence lingered as they continued south to Pillager’s Barrow. George would occasionally glance over at Sapnap to see if anything about his stony expression had changed, but each time Gorge looked, he was greeted by the sight of that same, stubbornly fixed scowl. Meanwhile, from what George could tell of the man who sat in front of him, Dream had not relaxed one bit since his outburst. The tension wrought throughout his frame couldn’t have been good for his aching shoulder. He kept his grip on the reins for the time being, fingers curled around the leather far too tightly.

George had watched the wanderer and his friend the night before and had thought that, if they weren’t becoming friends, then they were at least learning to work with each other. George had seen what Sapnap had been trying to do when he offered the story about his enderman encounter - he’d thought that Dream might’ve found it interesting. It had been an attempt at something between them, a connection; and while that attempt had not turned out so great in the end, there was no denying the fact that it was an invitation to some form of commonality. 

Now it felt as though they were back at square one, with Dream all shaken and Sapnap staring daggers at the ground like it had offended him somehow.

Sapnap was pigheaded - one of the most open secrets in the group. It was a pride that he had inherited from his father, and all his brothers shared it as well. Not only that, but George knew that Sapnap cared very deeply for the wellbeing of the group and would do just about anything to protect them, even if they didn’t need protecting. 

Dream was closely-guarded. He did a horribly good job of giving them just enough information to understand while being as vague as possible about everything else. But Sapnap did not like vague, so he would push and push until he squeezed some truth out of it. Then, Dream would close off and start shouting, and the whole situation would go to hell in a matter of seconds. It had happened twice now, and George could definitely see it happening again in the future. Something had to give, and neither of them seemed to want to back down anytime - 

A few soft melodic notes drifted over to George’s ear, cutting his thoughts short. He looked over to find that Bad had taken out his fiddle again and was tuning the strings. He hummed each appropriate note, turning the pegs gradually to match the tone. He appeared to be a little more prepared than he had been the previous day, as he reached to his back straps - where he carried his weapons - and pulled out his fiddle bow. He tucked the instrument under his chin and played a quick, lively scale. Satisfied with his tuning, he brought his bow back to its starting position and played the introduction to a familiar tune.

Not two measures in, Skeppy groaned and smacked his forehead onto the back of his friend’s shoulder. “Bad, I thought we said no love songs!”

Bad shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t think we could qualify this as a song. You don’t actually _sing_ the words.”

“It’s a song,” Fundy told him matter-of-factly.

“And why is that?” challenged Bad.

“It’s music and words. That qualifies it as a song.”

Bad turned to look Fundy dead in the eye, tucked away his bow, plucked a few half-hearted notes, deadpanned, “Dogs are neat,” and plucked a concluding chord accompanied by a little flourish of his hand.

“There,” said Bad, taking out his bow again. “Would you call _that_ a song?”

“In the barest of terms, yes, that is a song.”

“You’re just saying that to spite me, you muffin head!”

Fundy raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Is it working?”

George exhaled heavily, infinitely _not_ feeling up to this (literal) song and dance again. “Bad, I understand what you’re trying to do here, and it’s great, but - ” He spared Sapnap a glance, sensed the lingering tension of Dream in the saddle before him - “maybe now isn’t the best time.”

“There isn’t a wrong time for a little music,” Bad stated lightly, tucking his fiddle under his chin again. “Sometimes it’s for happiness, sometimes it’s for sadness…” He brought his bow to the strings once more. “And sometimes, it’s just a good way to pass the time.”

Back straightened out into the proper posture, Bad began to sing - er, _recite_ \- the tune…

_“I was seventeen and a couple of days when Jamie came to town,_

_“Wandering in a late summer’s haze, that stranger came around,_

_“Attracting every gaze from sunup to sundown,_

_“I was seventeen and a couple of days when I knew my love was found.”_

Bad played the bridge, bow rocking to and fro on the strings. As he spoke up for the next stanza, George heard Fundy’s voice join in…

_“I was seventeen and a couple of weeks when I decided to talk to her,_

_“But when her presence I did seek, I found I was not the first…”_

Then, to George’s surprise, he heard Skeppy join as well, rolling his eyes fondly as he uttered the lyrics…

_“She had been ‘proached by a man of mystique, a strong and wealthy sir,_

_“I was seventeen and a couple of weeks when I met my first saboteur.”_

Bad played the bridge once more, just a touch faster than before, pushing the mounting tempo. George knew what came in the next stanza, and grinned minutely, deciding, _Oh, what the hell,_ and joining in…

_“I was seventeen and a couple of months when I decided to try again,_

_“Though I was scared of being up front, I found I had no regrets,_

_“Said, ‘I know, Miss, that I’m being blunt…’”_

They paused to let Bad play the cheerful run before the four of them blurted out:

_“‘...butwouldyoubewillin’tojoinmethisweekend?’”_

George shook his head and chuckled right alongside his friend at the ridiculous lyric, finishing…

_“I was seventeen and a couple of months when Jamie told me yes!”_

Bad played the lively closing with a dramatic flair and a bow at the waist. George and the others clapped appreciatively, laughing. Sometimes, George really wondered how Bad had landed the position of captain in the Wickan Guard; he probably would have been a bard in another life.

As George was thinking this over, he failed to notice the other voice chuckling along with the three of them until the person in question spoke up: “ _Jesus_ , that’s a stupid song.”

George turned around to see Sapnap, the stony expression replaced by a reluctant but genuine smile.

Bad twirled his bow thoughtfully. “I thought we established that it isn’t a song.”

“We didn’t establish shit!” Fundy called, startling a snort out of Sapnap.

“ _Language_!”

George caught Bad’s eye. For a fraction of a second, George saw past the innocence and simple smiles to snatch a glimpse of a knowing glint - the gaze of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. He offered George a pleasant smile, a meaningful tilt of his head, and returned to playing absentminded tunes on his fiddle.

And just like that, Bad had single-handedly restored the majority of the group’s normalcy. All that remained was Dream, who had yet to relax in the slightest.

George wondered what was going on inside the wanderer’s head. Part of him wished to see if there was something he could do to pull him back to the group.

George still owed him, after all…

  
  
  


The atmosphere surrounding the group grew far less stifling as time wore on. Topics discussed were kept inconsequential, and the five of them carefully walked the line of being diplomatic while also trying not to entirely ignore the fact that another tiny rift had formed within their party. What resulted was light conversation, but gaps of healthy, contemplative silence. 

It was a while before Dream spoke up, giving a response to one of Fundy’s witty remarks. Just as they had the night before, they allowed Dream to return to the conversation, Bad leading the way on that front. If George had ever doubted Bad’s ability to be a captain, well, he certainly no longer did. Bad understood how people worked far too well to _not_ be a captain. Either that, or he just understood George and the others well enough to herd them along.

Though Dream was speaking once more, he didn’t seem to be entirely present. His sentences were short and clipped, and he spent far more time silent than not. He never spoke directly to Sapnap, too. That much was understandable, though. They were going to have to sort out whatever it was that boiled between them, preferably _before_ they arrived at the portals in Golestiera.

When George wasn’t speaking to the others or listening to Bad murmur a song, he was off in his own head, turning over the collection of decade-old memories that had been shoved to the forefront of his mind.

He cherished the memories he had of his mother - walking through the marketplace on Sunday mornings, reaching up to clip the lieutenant insignia to her uniform during her ‘pinning-on’ ceremony, visiting his father’s grave every winter, begging her to let him go hang out with Sapnap and the other Smith brothers in the caves, her careful hands on his as she taught him how to hold a bow. He looked back on them with a loving bittersweetness made golden by time and healing. 

But there were certain things he did not like to think about. That final morning, for one, and also Pillager’s Barrow.

Honoring the dead was deep-rooted in Wickan tradition. There was more to the Legends of Old than just the stories of the Aggression and The End, afterall. George had grown up hearing of a time where magic had made death a temporary sleep wherein the deceased would awaken in their beds, untouched by injury. It had made a death - a _final_ death, that is - all the more tragic. Such magic no longer existed, and all deaths were final, but paying respects to the departed was still an important part of Wickan culture, as well as the culture of various other towns and villages across Othana. 

For George, that meant that he was expected to have gone to the site of his mother’s death to properly honor her departure at least _once_ in the past eleven years.

But George was a coward.

At first it had been because he was far too young and far too broken to even consider the thought of going to that horrible field of ruin and bloodshed. Then, it had been because he was far too busy trying to get himself admitted to the Junior Guard so he could properly begin his training. _Then_ , it had been because he was off making a name for himself, traveling Northern Othana by the Main Road to participate in competitions and better his skills. And now, it was because he refused to stand before the location of his mother’s demise until he was worthy of bearing the Darkwood Bow.

The same bow he could feel weighing itself heavily upon his back.

He was still a common soldier. Not even a captain.

Was...was he even _allowed_ to step foot in Pillager’s Barrow? Could he handle that?

George tugged at his crimson scarf, feeling the old fabric between his fingers. He knew that, if he were to look at the Bow, a scrap of cloth the same shade tied to the riser would be swaying with the leisurely gait of the horse beneath him.

He kept his eyes steadily ahead of him.

  
  
  


George realized that he hadn’t even properly considered his options about what to do about Pillager’s Barrow a couple hours later, when they were getting close to the location of the hypothetical crossroads Bad had established. The woodlands were starting to thin out, less foliage and wild, creeping vegetation. There were fewer obstacles in their path that they had to maneuver around, and...sorry, was that a hole in the ground? A _perfectly_ cut out hole? In the middle of the wilderness?

He observed his surroundings once again, this time in a different light. The reason the woods seemed to be thinning was not just because they were approaching Pillager’s Barrow, but because the woodlands had been _ransacked_. Everywhere, random objects had been taken: bushes, chunks of earth, boulders, branches, even whole tree trunks. The destruction grew far more severe as they continued onward, small sections of forest gutted out until there was nothing left but upturned soil. There was no doubt about it: they had arrived at the Mid-Eastern Endomain.

Dream fell quiet once more when the first sign of enderman tampering came into view. George saw him continually adjust his mask, reaching up and tweaking it every couple of minutes. 

George knew that Dream had probably seen enough destroyed villages and ravaged woodlands to be reasonably uneasy in such a place. He had been right to say that George and the others didn’t understand what it really meant to be in the midst of the Aggression. Dream got to travel and witness the result of the tragedies firsthand while the rest of them had been stuck in Northwick, complaining of curfews and blackouts, measures that were meant to keep them safe.

Dream had a right to be frustrated with not just Sapnap, but all of them. They truly didn’t understand the extent of the Aggression’s afflictions, not like _he_ did.

Finally, the time for decisions came. It was around noon when the group stopped at a small river flowing through the woodlands. Just like the day before, they dismounted and let the horses rest and drink their fill. Dried meat and berries were passed around, canteens of water were filled, dusty and sore hands were cooled in the river’s waters.

Dream, meanwhile, appeared to be attempting to wash some of the dried gore stains out of his gloves and cloak, which he managed just fine until something gave him pause. George saw him tap his knee contemplatively, run a hand over the back of his neck, and stand up with finality, as if he had come to some conclusion. “I’ll be right back,” he told them, standing up and folding his cloak over his arm.

“Where are you going?” Bad asked him from where he stood beside one of the horses’ saddlebags, packing away their leftover preserves.

  
“Just heading down the river, I won’t be far.” And without any further explanation, the wanderer started off along the riverbank and followed the bend of the water around a few trees, out of sight.

“...Should we be concerned about him going off by himself in these parts of the woods?” Fundy remarked. He brought a hand along the side of a tree, tracing the outline of the massive hole carved into the trunk by a wandering enderman. “I’m not exactly sure it’s safe.”

“ _He_ seems pretty chill about it,” Skeppy replied. “He knows the forest better than the rest of us, so…” He shrugged.

“He was literally just going on about how dangerous it is out here a couple hours ago,” recalled Sapnap. “He’s not making any sense at all.”

“We’re right by a river, Sapnap,” George replied, gesturing to the flowing waters not ten feet away. “There wouldn't be any endermen around here, even at night.”

Fundy rapped his knuckles against the exposed wood of the damaged tree. “This happens to suggest otherwise.”

“Dream can take care of himself,” Bad reminded all of them. “But, if you’re all really so worried, then how about one of you follow him, just to be sure. Safety in numbers, after all.”

“I’ll go,” George offered, drying his hands on his trousers.

George headed down the riverbank and around the bend Dream had followed. On the other side of the trees, he found that part of the river split off into a meandering creek. George took note of the fresh footprints left in the silt shores and started to follow the trickle of water deeper into the woods.

It wasn’t long before he came to a break in the trees. There, couching by a deep current of water was none other than Dream. Though he had his back to George, the archer could tell that Dream was busy splashing water onto his face.

Splashing water _directly_ onto his face, it would seem, for resting in a patch of grass beside him shone the familiar pale grin, as well as the smaller scarf that he usually had tied around his head and his evergreen coat. 

Dream didn’t appear to have noticed George’s presence. He stopped splashing water onto his face and leaned back on his heels with a sigh, his hand briefly rubbing the back of his neck once more. “God, get a grip on yourself, Dream,” George heard the wanderer mutter. “Nothing’s gonna happen, you’re being ridiculous...”

Curious and maybe a little concerned ( _Who the hell refers to themself in the third-person?_ ), George decided it would be a good time to approach. Taking a step forward, George opened his mouth and - 

\- promptly stepped on what had to have been the world’s noisiest stick. The resounding _CRUNCH!_ could’ve been heard on the other side of the Henzo River, for all George knew. 

All in one fluid motion, Dream grabbed his mask, held it in front of his face, and whirled around, his other hand clutching the hilt of his dagger in a whiteknuckle grip and holding the weapon drawn.

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH!” George blurted, hands up in surrender as he stumbled a step back. “It’s me!”

Dream’s shoulders slumped. “...George?”

“Yes! Put the knife away!”

The wanderer huffed out an amused breath and sheathed the dagger. “Don't sneak up on me like that.”

“I-I didn’t mean to!”

Dream’s head tilted to the side, and George got the impression that he was rolling his eyes. “What’re you doing out here? I said I wasn’t going far.”

“Well, we’re in an Endomain, right? Dangerous woods, and all that.” He shrugged. “Basically, the others didn’t think it would be a good idea for you to be walking around by yourself.”

“But not you,” said Dream.

“We’re right by a river. Endermen wouldn’t come anywhere near us if they knew there was a water source nearby, so I didn’t think we really needed to be worried about it.”

“I don’t either - but I guess it’s a nice thought…”

“What is?”

Dream didn’t give a proper reply, but instead gestured to the creek. “I’m not done here, by the way.” He tapped the pale grin he held over his face. “I still have to clean this, so if you wouldn’t mind just...turning around, or…”

George gave him an odd look. “I can’t see your face when you’re looking at the river, Dream.”

“I know, I know, but - ” he sighed heavily, waving a hand at George - “just humor me, alright? I’m not taking any chances.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Arms folded, he made a show of spinning around on his heel and standing straight and stiff, head fully turned to the uninhabited woodlands. “Is _this_ fine?”

Dream snorted. “Perfect.” A second later, George could hear the splashing resume.

There was nothing but companionable silence for a moment before Dream spoke up. “So, out of curiosity, have you made up your mind about which route we should take moving forward? I think this goes without saying, but my opinion on the matter hasn’t changed.”

George sighed. “To be honest, I...I don’t know yet. I haven’t been able to come to a decision.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s…” George looked for the right words. “It’s a little complicated…”

“We have a bit of time before we need to come to an agreement,” said Dream. “Maybe you should think it out loud.”

“Think it out loud? What do you mean?”

“Like, just talk about it. To yourself. Out loud. In your own voice. I do it all the time when I can’t make a decision out on the road.”

Well, George knew _that_ was true.

“...Or if that’s too weird for you, you can talk at me,” Dream suggested when George didn’t respond for half a beat too long. “I won’t say anything - until the end, at least. I’ve gotta get my two cents in there somewhere.”

George huffed out a half-hearted laugh. “At least you're honest. Uh, alright then, let’s see…” He drummed his fingers on the crook of his elbow. “I’m tempted to say that we should go around Pillager’s Barrow. For right now, it’s safer and we can be sure we won’t get mugged. But then there’s the whole problem of walking through an Endomain for several hours and adding enough time onto our travels today that we might be stuck out here at night, which is not good…”

George tilted his head to the side, eyes studying the trees before him as he continued, “So then we could go through Pillager’s Barrow, which is way faster, so it would be less of a strain on the horses. But then we also run the risk of getting attacked by bandits, and while it’s possible for us to fight them off, we can’t guarantee any advantage over them. And then there’s…” 

He trailed off, realizing the words he was about to say. 

The damage was already done. “There’s what?” Dream prompted when George didn’t continue.

George thought about it, weighed his options, drew in a reluctant breath, and muttered, “Pillager’s Barrow is...not a good place.”

Dream chuckled humorlessly. “You don’t say.”

“Yeah,” answered George, managing a weak laugh of his own, “but it’s just really…” He searched for words, continuously failing due to the fact that the Darkwood Bow felt as though it was burning a brand into his back and he couldn’t get his mind off it.

“I don’t like it. I really don’t want to go through, but it’s for no good reason. Like, it’s just a place!” he realized, gesturing out into the woods with frustration. “That’s all it really is, a place, a location - somewhere I’ve literally _never_ been to before! I shouldn’t be scared. You’re right, Dream, to say that we should take our chances with the bandits and not the endermen. But part of me just wants to...I dunno, dig my heels in the ground! And it’s for _such_ a stupid reason - ”

“You have bad memories of that place.”

George froze. He turned around to find that Dream was standing there, mask on, holding the small scarf in his hand.

Slowly, George blinked. “...What?”

“Bad memories,” Dream repeated. “Maybe it’s something that happened to you, maybe it's something that happened to someone else, but it’s _something_ , and it’s enough to make you not want to go there, or not want to think about it.

“Simply put, George, you’re scared, and to you, it seems like no good reason. _‘Those memories can’t hurt me, so why am I afraid?’_ That’s what you’re thinking, right? That’s what’s running through your head?” 

George suddenly felt very, very exposed, like someone had pried open his skull and looked right into his brain. “...How did you know?”

And Dream just gave George this sad, twisted smile that spoke of dry irony and mirthless humor.

Then, he turned around and threaded the smaller scarf under his mask so that the ends came out around the back of his head, which he held in his right hand. “Could you give me a hand with this? My shoulder is still giving me a little trouble, and the ends are kinda hard to tie sometimes”

George blinked dumbly. “I - yeah. Sure.” He stepped forward and nudged Dream’s hand away so he could take the ends of the scarf into his own. “Tilt your head back, I’m not as tall as you.”

Dream obliged. “You know, I _could_ make a joke about your height, but I’m feeling nice at the moment.”

“Whatever insult you could possibly come up with, I assure you I’ve probably heard it before.” George finished the knot and pulled it taught in his hands. “That’s not too tight, is it?”

“Nah, it’s perfect.” George brought his hands away, and Dream turned around, carefully adjusting his mask. “Thanks.”

“‘Course.”

Dream scooped up his evergreen coat and threw it on, wincing as he wrestled the arm of his aching shoulder into its sleeve. “Ready to head back to the group?”

George put his hands in the pockets of his own coat and shrugged. “Sure.”

Dream started walking; George followed.

George didn’t think that Dream was going to say anything more on the matter they had briefly discussed. Well, to call it a discussion would be incorrect, but George didn’t know what else to call it. A realization? Or a confrontation? Regardless, that sad, mildly unnerving smile had seemed to be the end of the ‘discussion’.

But then Dream spoke up once more. “Someone once told me that it’s okay to be scared, but what we do about that fear is what really matters. I know for a fact that I’m being the biggest hypocrite by repeating it to you, but maybe you’ll actually learn something from it.”

“Why does saying it make you a hypocrite?” asked George.

“Because I haven’t lived up to it.” Dream adjusted his mask. “Not _yet_.”

“Oh. Well, I hope you do. Live up to it, I mean. That _is_ what you’re trying to do, right?”

Dream tilted his head to the side, as if considering it. “In a way.”

George gave him a look. “What is it with you and not giving straight answers?”

“Oh, well, you see, it’s part of my brand,” Dream deadpanned.

“Really.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve got this whole thing with the _mysterious_ cloak and _mysterious_ mask going for me. It’d ruin the aesthetic if I didn’t give mysterious answers.”

“I…” George laughed, blinking. “I _honestly_ can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.”

“Oh, good. That means I’m doing this right.”

George chuckled, shaking his head. “You are _ridiculous_.”

“I’m ‘ridiculous’ now? What happened to ‘weird’? Am I one, or the other? Or maybe I’m both? Should we start making a list, or are you going to keep track of this yourself? Because _I’m_ definitely not.”

“You seem to be keeping track just fine. It’s your fault a list has to exist in the first place, anyway, so it’s your responsibility.”

Dream shrugged. “Alright, that’s fair. Let’s see how far the list gets before we stomp in that overgrown lizard.”

George snorted at that. “You make it sound like it’s going to be really easy to defeat the Ender Dragon,” he commented, “like it’s a little gecko, or something that we can smoosh under our boots.”

“We technically haven’t seen it yet,” Dream pointed out. “All we have to go off of are old stories and legends that have been retold so many times that the details could’ve been completely blown out of proportion. So, I’ve elected to think of the Dragon as something ‘smoosh-able’ until I absolutely have to accept the fact that it could eat me in one bite.”

“It sounds like you’re in denial.”

“Really? Hadn’t noticed.”

“What do you think it looks like? Like, how it _actually_ appears?”

Dream tilted his head back thoughtfully. “Well, based on the stories I head as a kid...big, jet-black scales, bright purple eyes, six legs, wing - ”

“Six legs?” George cut him off.

“Yeah, six legs.”  
  


“Where did you get _that_ number from?”

“It’s what I learned when I was told the stories. What, how many legs did you hear it has? Eight?”

“ _Four_ ,” said George. “The Dragon has _four_ legs. Why would it have six?”

“Why not?”

“The extra two would just be dead weight!”

Dream held up his hands. “Well, okay, if _you’re_ the expert, then what do you think the Dragon looks like?”

George reached back into his memories one last time and pulled forward what he could recall of his mother’s bedtime stories, told to him when he was very young. “Absolutely massive,” he began, “with razor sharp claws and colossal wings wide enough to swath an entire house in darkness.”

Dream scoffed. “Are you describing it to me, or are you reciting it?”

“I’m providing _details_ ,” said George, bowing slightly and offering a smug grin. He carried on, “The Dragon has _four_ legs thicker than the oldest dark oaks. It can tear you apart with its jaws or it can release a plume of fire hot enough to put the sun to shame.”

“Fire?” echoed Dream.

“Yes, fire. It’s a dragon, isn’t it?”

“I always heard it breathed this purplish vapour. ‘Dragon’s Breath,’ they called it. Highly toxic and burns right through your gear.”

“It doesn’t sound much worse than fire,” said George. “Either could have us dead within seconds, so what does it matter?”

“If I’m going to die, I’d rather know if it’s going to be burning to a crisp or choking on poison, thank you very much.”

It was a morbid topic, to be sure, but George (and most likely Dream as well) were very much aware of the fact that this plan could go south very, very quickly. Death was something that had crossed George’s mind rather frequently over the past few weeks. He always seemed to circle back to it, no matter where his thoughts went. But, being able to joke about it so casually was comforting in some weird, twisted way. It didn’t feel like a big, bad storm cloud looming on the horizon so much when George could say ‘death’ and chuckle in the same breath.

(Out of everyone in the group, George was least surprised about Dream seeming to share a similar mindset. The dark and messier parts of mid-Aggression life didn’t seem to faze him as much. It must’ve been easier to stare down the face of death with that mask over his eyes.)

“...can’t be certain that we’ll still be traveling come nightfall,” Fundy was explaining to Skeppy as George and Dream returned to the group. “By crossing Pillager’s Barrow, we could very easily be taking an unnecessary risk.”

“Or maybe it _is_ necessary,” Skeppy replied. “It’s dangerous, yeah, but at least we’d know what to expect if we’re ambushed. None of us have actually fought an enderman before.”

“What’s this about fighting endermen?” prompted George, coming to stand at the edge of the group with Dream at his side.

“We’re still trying to come to a decision on the path to take with Pillager’s Barrow,” explained Sapnap. “Fundy and I say go around, and Skeppy says go through.”

“What about you, Bad?”

“I’m neutral. I see the benefits and risks of both. Besides, there’s six of us now. If the vote ties, we’ll be stuck here arguing until it’s too late to make a proper decision.”

“Well, you guys know my stance,” said Dream, folding his arms. “That hasn’t changed.”

“It’s down to George then.” Bad looked at him expectantly. “So?”

George wanted to believe that he still had to think about it, that he still wasn’t sure and to force the group to stall. Doing so, however, would just delay the inevitable and put himself and his friends in danger. If he was being entirely honest with himself, he’d known his answer since the moment Dream posed the options in the first place. Fear, however, was a very effective muffler.

But it was okay to be afraid, so long as he did something about it.

The memories of the morning his mother was deployed to Pillager’s Barrow hung heavy in his head, and the Darkwood Bow caused his shoulders to stoop, but George answered, “I say we go through.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh when I started writing this story I thought George was gonna be a pretty angst-free protagonist. And then this happened. Uh, whoops, I guess?
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!! See y'all next week! :D
> 
> (Side note because I've been thinking about this a lot recently: I'm sorry I don't really respond to comments. Besides what I'm posting here on Ao3, I have exactly zero (0) experience with existing on the internet, so I'm not used to interacting with people online yet. But, as time goes on, maybe I'll get more comfy with it and I'll start responding! I really do appreciate every comment I get from you guys, so I want to show my gratitude somehow! Guess we'll just have to wait and see...)


	10. Treeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Ngl y'all I am So Nervous about this chapter but it was very fun to write so I hope you enjoy!))

Pillager’s Barrow had been carved out by a forest fire fifteen years ago, and the region had never recovered, especially when the Crasmere Pillagers took control of the land shortly thereafter. It had once been the central hub of one of the most infamous pillager outposts, though what now remained was little more than dust, dirt, skeletal trees, and perpetually withering grass. There were ruins of old archer towers and barricades scattered about the wasteland; to the east, the weathered bones of Crasmere Tower slumped against a cloudless sky.

The makeshift road they followed had been beaten into the ground by countless feet, hooves, and cartwheels. It wove through the remnants of the battlefield. Every now and then, as their horses plodded along, George would occasionally spot a rusted sword or snapped arrow shaft protruding from the sun-scorched earth. Once or twice, he caught sight of what had to be the bones of a long-dead ravager.

He couldn’t help but wonder, with a morbid curiosity, where his mother had been when it happened. The general had claimed that a small party of Wickan guards had been pursuing Thom Crasmere, the pillager leader, as he tried to escape, George’s mother leading the charge. They had been on horseback, galloping after him, and they hadn’t quite reached the treeline when Crasmere suddenly turned around and...well…

_ “She’d chased him into the perfect position for my men to surround him,”  _ the general had told a teary-eyed, thirteen-year-old George.  _ “Your mother is a hero, Greggory. Wear the Darkwood name with pride.” _

George took a fortifying breath and kept his eyes on the trail ahead.

Despite having come to his decision a good half hour earlier, George couldn’t help but feel like he was in the wrong. He knew, logically, it was just his own head giving him trouble. Though, that did little to stop the slight queasiness that had settled in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t come here to honor his mother, so he had no reason to feel guilty for carrying a bow he had yet to earn the title of through the battlefield where its previous owner had met her end. He and his friends were just passing through. Nothing more. 

...He wondered if, when this was all over, he could try to locate the exact spot where his mother had been and pay respects - properly.

He wondered if he had passed that spot already and hadn’t even realized it.

He wondered if it really  _ was _ appropriate of him to be here, ‘just passing through’.

He wondered if it really  _ was  _ proper of him to carry the Darkwood Bow upon his back.

He wondered if - 

“George.”

He looked up. It was Sapnap.

“You good man?”

George managed a weak smile that probably (definitely) came off as more of a grimace. “Fine.”

Sapnap gave him a flat, knowing look.

“ _ Going _ to be fine,” George amended, adjusting his reins in his hands for the millionth time in the past five minutes, “just as soon as we get out of here.”

“It’s been smooth sailing so far,” Dream told him, “and it currently doesn’t look like we’ll be running into any delays. So, we’ll reach the treeline in about ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Think you can hold out for that long, George?” Bad asked, looking back at the archer from where he led the group.

George shrugged helplessly. “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

“We  _ could _ speed up the process if Bad didn’t insist on keeping us at a walk,” Skeppy said pointedly, nudging his friend on the shoulder.

“There’s no reason to unnecessarily wear out the horses,” answered the captain. “We still have a few hours of traveling before we reach Juno Settlement.”

“It’ll be nice to stay in an actual town,” Fundy commented idly. “No more sleeping in caves.”

“I would hardly call Juno Settlement a town,” said Dream. “Last I saw it, it was mostly a bunch of tents and small buildings surrounded by the foundations of a wall. There’s no proper roads, shops, workhouses, or inns. We’ll probably be sleeping under the open sky, unless we can get someone to lend us a tent or two.”

Fundy’s shoulders dropped. “Aw.”

“It’s better than a cave,” remarked Bad, ever the optimist. “How can we secure ourselves a place to stay?”

“When I went there last, I was allowed to make camp on an unused plot of land for basically nothing in return. They know how dangerous it is to be in the Endomain, so they’re relatively sympathetic towards travelers, but that’s probably changed. There have been a lot of incidents of endermen attacks in the area being caused by people. I’d imagine they’re being a little more wary than before.”

“Do you think they might ask for payment?”

“I’m not sure. Since outside trade is nonexistent, they don’t really operate in emeralds and iron bits; they mostly barter. There’s also a chance that the settlement leaders might ask for a favor or two in return. We’ll just have to see.”

“Juno Settlement sounds complicated,” remarked Fundy. “Are we even sure it’s worth it to stay there? It might be easier to make camp outside the settlement’s walls.”

“Trust me, it’ll be a whole lot safer inside those walls than - ”

“Guys,” Sapnap hissed sharply. From the severity of his voice alone, everyone fell silent and instinctively brought their horses to a halt. Sapnap had stopped as well, and now he was staring intently at something to the left.

George followed his friend’s line of sight to find the object of his attention: a small abandoned archer tower about twenty meters off the main road. George couldn’t see what was so special about it. There were several other towers just like it scattered around Pillager’s Barrow, each equipped with its own protective wall around the base and rusted spikes ringing the edges of the upper platform. In fact, this one appeared to be in an even more serious state of disrepair. Its once high walls were slanted off to the side, and the tower foundations were rotting away.

Bad had turned his horse partially sideways so that he could catch Sapnap’s eye and shoot him a questioning look. Sapnap put a finger to his lips, then meaningfully pointed to the tower ruins, a question in his eyes. Bad seemed to understand, as he and Sapnap, in unison, crept off their horses and readied their shields and weapons. Bad gave a signal often used in dawn patrol, the back of a raised hand with three fingers up and pressed together -  _ “Stay quiet and be ready for anything.” _ George gave him a nod of understanding. Bad nodded back, and with Sapnap at his side, they approached the tower.

As Bad and Sapnap started their advance, George set about organizing the others. He got Skeppy’s attention and spelled out - to the best of his ability -  _ “REINS”  _ in sign language. George couldn’t guarantee that there wasn’t at least one error, but Skeppy got the idea regardless. He moved up to the front saddle and took up the reins, straightening out the horse in the process. Meanwhile, George looked to Fundy. He pointed to one of the saddlebags on Fundy’s horse, mimed shaking a bottle side to side in his hand, and mouthed,  _ “Potions.” _ Fundy nodded and produced his potions bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Without needing further instruction, they both took out their shields and held them at the ready.

George eyed Sapnap’s unoccupied horse and considered switching over, but that would leave Dream alone on horseback.

And speaking of which…

“Dream,” George whispered just barely loud enough for the wanderer to hear, “I want you to hold the horse by his mane and get the stirrups on the balls of your feet, heels down. If we start moving, put your hands on the base of his neck, rise out of the saddle an inch or two, and lean  _ forward _ .”

“Okay…?” His voice rose into a quiet question as he shifted to follow George’s instructions. He watched Sapnap and Bad out of the corner of his eye, observing them as they continued their approach of the decrepit archer tower. “...He’s seen something, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. If there’s anyone back there, then chances are we’re going to need to make a quick getaway.” He readjusted his grip on the reins and mentally prepared himself to draw either the Darkwood Bow or his shield if need be. “I’d get your shield ready if I were you.”

Wordlessly, Dream obeyed, pulling the shield from the strap on his back and putting it on his left arm. George silently hoped the wanderer’s shoulder wouldn’t hinder him in any way.

They waited, watching Bad and Sapnap cautiously approach the collapsing structure. Huddled together with their shields, they crept around the wall and - 

What followed was a rather impressive display of shouting and swearing on Sapnap’s part, only overshadowed by Bad’s shrill cry of, “GET BACK!” The pair backpedaled with their shields up, which took a volley of arrows and axe swings. They were followed out by four men swathed in heavy cloaks the color of the dying grass around them. Two held crossbows while the others brandished axes, advancing with wide, wild slashes.

Immediately, everyone in the group shifted their positions to make it easier for Bad and Sapnap to retreat to their horses. George briefly handed the reins to Dream with a curt, “Hold these,” so he could take up the Darkwood Bow and provide cover fire. He nocked an arrow, aimed, and fired, carefully tracking his own movements and those of the assaulters to make sure none of his shots were lethal. George may have been skilled enough to end two lives with a single arrow, but he was a protector first and foremost. He did not kill people.

However, he had to admit that his priorities began to shift when, from behind the wall,  _ five horsemen _ emerged with double-arrow crossbows.

At the same time, Sapnap and Bad clamored onto their horses. “Let’s MOVE!” ordered the captain, kicking his horse with purpose.

George threw the Darkwood Bow onto his back and snatched the reins from Dream. With no time for a warning, George dug his heels into his steed’s sides and called out a sharp, “YAH!” The horse broke off into a gallop with a startled cry, chasing after the others.

Dream grasped and shouted, surprised, as he hurried to fall into the position George had instructed him on less than a minute before. George could hear him muttering, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit - ” as he took up fistfulls of the horse’s mane and leaned forward.

George had driven a horse from the back saddle before, but at a dead run? Nope, never. It was difficult to see, and he could tell the horse was having a harder time balancing and maintaining its speed, what with carrying two passengers of different sizes. The dead run was reduced to a faster gallop by the time they caught up with the others. Though, it was enough to keep pace with them.

Unfortunately, it was  _ not  _ going to be enough to keep ahead of the bandits. Two of their horses were weighted down with double passengers, and the other two had supplies and a passenger each. It wouldn’t be long before their pursuers were right on their tails. 

“George! I want you up here with me!” Bad called out from up ahead. “You and Skeppy are going to set the pace. I want the others in the back. Fundy, do what you have to to keep them at bay. I do  _ not  _ want a shift in positions without my knowing about it!”

“Got it!” they called up, George adding, “Sapnap, fall back and switch with me!” Arrows whizzing past George’s ears, he and Sapnap altered positions. Sapnap kept his shield strapped high upon his back to catch any projectiles.

Once George and Dream had secured their position, Bad made his next move. With Skeppy manning the reins, Bad was free to draw his bow and fire responding shots. The sound of shattering glass told George that Fundy had hurled a potion over his shoulder. He heard a wild nicker from behind, one of the bandits’ horses stumbling but evidently not falling from the lack of a crash.

They, in terms of horses, were outmanned, and they were certainly outgunned. They were going to need more of an offensive if they wanted to survive this.

“Bad, where’s our destination?” George called out, half of a terrible, stupid plan forming in his head.

“Straight ahead, to the treeline,” Bad responded. “We can get cover in the woods.”

“Oh this is  _ not _ a good idea at all,” George muttered to himself. Then, he lifted his arms so they hugged Dream’s center a little more to get his attention. “Hey, do me a favor and take these again?”

“W-what?” Dream sputtered.

George didn’t have time for this: “The  _ reins _ , Dream, take the  _ fucking reins _ !”

Dream lifted his hands from the horse’s neck just long enough to snatch the reins from George’s waiting hands. The moment they were out of George’s control, the archer reached back for the Darkwood Bow. It was a difficult angle, trying to twist himself around to aim at the swiftly-approaching opposition between his two rear-bearing friends, but George wasn’t considered ‘one of the best archers this side of the Henzo’ for nothing. He put an arrow in the shoulder of one of the bandits, misaligning their shot and sending it far off to the side before sending several more rapid-fire shots towards their other pursuers.

George’s eye caught something. And speaking of the side - 

“Bad!” Fundy called up. “We’ve got more company coming up on our left flank!”

Sure enough, three more horses came from another hidden post, driving into the left side of their two-by-two formation. They, too, were armed with double-arrow crossbows.

“I see that!” answered Bad. “Alter course right and go wide! Don’t let the ones to the rear come up on our other side. George, I need you on coverfire, and Fundy, I want you to switch positions with Sapnap and keep further back as we go. Make good use of those potions to hold them at our rear! Whenever you’re ready, Skeppy. Set a new route into the field.”

“Got it!” said Skeppy, scanning the rightward treeline for a new destination. “Going for a wide right turn...now!”

George was so busy twisting around to fire at the bandits advancing on their right flank that he completely forgot to acknowledge the fact that Dream - who had little to no experience in riding horses - was currently in control of the reins. As the group was banking right, Dream struggled to alter their horse’s trajectory while keeping his balance. They started to cut into Skeppy and Bad’s path of travel.

Skeppy caught sight of this out of the corner of his eye and waved a wild hand at them. “Dude,  _ right _ ! Go  _ right _ !”

“I-I’m trying,” Dream managed between clenched teeth. With a frustrated growl, he yanked the reins in an attempt to get the horse to turn.

And the horse  _ did _ turn. There was only one problem: George did  _ not _ .

It happened so quickly that he barely had time to process what was going on before it was too late. With a jaw-rattling jolt, George was knocked from the saddle and over the back of the horse as a result of his unstable position and the stallion’s off-balance gait. He crashed into the rocks and bramble that made up a majority of Pillager’s Barrow. Luckily, Fundy and Sapnap had already passed him, so he was in no danger of being run over.

Not by  _ them _ , at least. The rear-riding bandits altered course and headed straight for him.

George, meanwhile, was trying to get his head on his shoulders. Vision swimming from a particularly nasty blow to the head, he was just barely coherent enough to snatch up an arrow and nock it. He took aim and prioritized the nearest threat - a horse about seven strides away from trampling him underhoof. It was a sloppy shot, but it did its job. An arrow was put into the horse’s face. The poor creature didn’t even get a chance to cry out before it crashed to the ground, stone dead.

Head beginning to clear, George tucked and rolled out of the way of one of the rear-riders and shot at the backs of remaining two. He missed, though it was enough to anger them. ( _ Whoops. _ ) They whirled around, crossbows loaded and pointed for a lethal shot.

George’s eyes darted around. Cover, cover, cover - no cover. He dropped his shield on the way down, and now it was far out of reach. Oh, God, he was fucked - 

Out of nowhere, Fundy came charging in and cut them off. He chucked a deep red harming potion at them, which exploded in a dark vaporous liquid that washed over both riders and their horses. Their crossbow shots went wide and way off trajectory, and their horses reared, enough to even buck one of them off.

Meanwhile, Sapnap arrived from the other side and came to a screeching halt in front of George. He offered a hand. “Come on!”

George scrambled to his feet, snatching up a handful of arrows that had fallen from his quiver upon impact. Two went between his teeth while the others were haphazardly shoved into the available slots. Then, he took Sapnap’s hand and let his friend haul him into the rear saddle. All of their horses were equipped with double saddles for this exact reason, and George was infinitely grateful for Bad’s foresight.

The moment George was seated, he removed the arrows from his mouth and patted Sapnap on the shoulder. “I’m in, I’m in! Go!”

Sapnap dug his heels into the stallion’s sides, accompanied by a sharp, “YAH!” and a snap of the reins. George grabbed the back of Sapnap’s cloak to steady himself as the horse broke off into a run. Fundy wasn’t too far behind.

“George, what the hell was that?” Sapnap exclaimed as they hurried to catch up with the group. “I’ve literally never seen you fall out of the saddle!”

“I gave the reins to Dream - ”

“You WHAT?!”

“He doesn’t know how to ride a horse!” Fundy sputtered. “Why the fuck would you give him the reins?!”

“I needed to provide cover fire!” defended George. “It would’ve been fine if we hadn’t had to switch directions.”

“It would’ve been fine if that moron knew how to ride a horse like a fucking normal person!” Sapnap fumed. “George, you nearly got run over and skewered by a couple lowlives - you could’ve died!”

“Well, I  _ didn’t _ , which is what I think we should  _ really  _ be focusing on - ”

Two arrows whizzed past, and while their armor was strong, there was no protecting from a well-placed shot. One of the arrows caught Fundy on the shoulder and he cried out with a curse. 

George twisted around to check behind them. Following directly to his and Sapnap’s rear was the last of the rear-riding bandits, the others having either been incapacitated or had ridden ahead to join the group flanking Bad, Skeppy, and Dream. Now, one remained, and he was currently in the process of loading up his crossbow.

“Fundy, throw a potion!” Sapnap barked, fear edging into his voice.

“I-I can’t,” stammered Fundy, hand on his impaled shoulder. “He’s following too far back, he got my throwing arm.”

George nocked an arrow and twisted around again, but with the bandit following directly behind, it was impossible to get a good angle.

He ran through his options. Banking right to get a clear shot took time and left both of them vulnerable; putting Sapnap’s shield on his own back to protect himself was a temporary solution and did nothing to stop the bandit from shooting Fundy again or either of their horses. 

No time to get a potion from Fundy, no time for coordinated plans, no time for good ideas - 

George nocked an arrow, lifted his right foot out of the stirrup, planted it on the seat of the saddle, spun around, and pushed off. It was a maneuver he’d done in competition countless times before, though never from a small back saddle. It left his jump awkward and a little sideways.

It was enough. While airborne, he pulled the bowstring back and fired.

The arrow landed square between the horse’s eyes.

Simultaneously, George and the bandit hit the ground, though George’s landing was far more steady - well, if it could be called ‘steady’ at all. He came down on his feet, grunted and staggered, nearly tripping over himself and face planting into the rocky ground like he had just minutes before. Without wasting a second, he surged forward and stole the bandit’s crossbow. He took one of its limbs in his hand and put the other under his boot. With a yank and a twist, the wood splintered, and the weapon shattered. He dropped the remains and kicked it over to the bandit, who had yet to get himself out from under his horse.

Once more, Sapnap came around and offered George a hand up. Once he was seated, Sapnap got the horse into motion and said, “George, do me a favor and stay in the damn saddle.”

George dropped his forehead onto Sapnap’s back. With his adrenaline beginning to falter, the ache in his bruised limbs, the sting of his bramble-pricked skin, and the throbbing of his head all loudly made their presence known. “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

Their respite was brief. They had to ride hard to catch up with the others, though Bad, Skeppy, and Dream seemed to be handling themselves well enough. Skeppy had gotten into his redstone bag at some point, as he was now lobbing fast-burning flares at the bandits to deter them. Most fell back while others stubbornly chased after them, desperate to fell their horses to get to the valuables stored in the saddlebags. 

As George’s group advanced, George himself was able to assist by firing at the remainder of the bandits from behind; an arrow placed firmly in the left flank of one of the steeds was enough to send the animal to the ground. It only took a handful of other shots and an additional flare from Skeppy to finally get the remaining two bandits to desist. They turned tail and galloped away, heading south down the field.

Finally, George felt it was safe to put the Darkwood Bow away. Sapnap kept them on the others’ tail as they made one last sprint to the treeline. By the time they reached the woodlands, they had finally caught up with Bad, Skeppy, and Dream.

Once everyone was back together, the captain brought them over to a small glade where they parked the horses and dismounted. Sapnap slid off first and gave George a hand as he more or less tumbled to the ground. His friend grabbed his upper arm to steady him as the world went askew for a moment. George put a hand to his head and growled.  _ God, this is going to be the  _ **_worst_ ** _ headache, isn’t it? _

“You okay?” Sapnap asked him as George gathered his bearings.

“Fine,” he answered between ground teeth. 

“George!” Bad called to him, rushing forward. “Are you alright? What’s the matter?”

George winced at the captain’s all-too-loud voice. “Hit my head on the way down.”

Bad pursed his lisp. “Let me see…” He gently took either side of George’s face in his hands and carefully guided George’s head this way and that, looking at the wound and his eyes. He felt Bad brush some of his hair out of the way, and he hissed between his teeth as the movement tugged at the torn skin. “Dizziness, headache, double vision, nausea?” Bad prompted.

Though his stomach felt queasy, George couldn’t tell if it was from the injury or his lingering anxiety. Regardless, he answered, “All of the above.”

“Sounds like the start of a concussion,” Sapnap remarked grimly. 

“We’ll give you a health pot before it can get any worse,” decided Bad.

George opened his mouth to ask after Bad’s own wellbeing - 

“MOTHERFUCKER!”

\- and he turned his head to find Fundy being held upright by Skeppy while Dream held a bloodied wooden shaft, an arrow head, and his dagger in his hands; Fundy’s damaged pauldron sat at his feet. Meanwhile, Skeppy was quick to press gauze to the newly opened wound.

Fundy glared daggers at Dream. “Could y’ give a guy a little more of a warning next time?!”

“I’m not exactly used to doing this to other people.”

Fundy hissed through his teeth while Skeppy began to wind bandages around the wound, the anger he had towards Dream seeming to fizzle out as he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. “Get me a medium health pot from my bag.”

“We need one over here as well,” Bad called; George winced again. (God, he didn’t realize how loud his friends were until now...)

Dream picked up the potions bag that Fundy had dropped on the floor and began to rifle through, producing two moderately sized potion bottles a moment later. He handed one over to Fundy, who took it from him without comment, and then came over to where George and the others stood.

The wanderer gave George an awkward half-grin, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his face. “Are...you okay?” he asked, handing the potion to George.

George took the bottle from Dream, uncorked it, and knocked it back. “About as okay as I  _ can _ be.” 

“No thanks to  _ you _ …” Sapnap muttered lowly; George elbowed him in the ribs.

Dream heard the remark regardless. “Yeah, I…” He blew out a breath, fidgeting with his mask. “I know my saying it is completely useless, but, uh, what happened back there? That was on me. I could’ve handled it better, it’s just - you gave me the reins and I didn’t know what to do so I panicked and - ”

“Dream,” George cut him off, leveling the wanderer with a reassuring look. “It’s fine. Well, it’s not ‘fine’, but I don’t blame you for what happened. It was poor circumstances; it couldn’t be helped.”

Dream ducked his head, mouth all twisted up in a lopsided smile. “I-I don’t know how to ride a horse…” he reminded lamely.

“Guess we’ll have to fix that.”

“But not right now,” said Bad. He took the empty potion bottle from George and put it on his belt for the time being. Then, he started rifling through one of the saddlebags, swiftly producing more gauze and bandages. “We have to tend to our wounds, and then we have to tend to our horses. None of them were badly injured, thankfully, but they were still scraped up during the fight. Once that’s all taken care of, we’ll start moving again. We can rest for longer once we’re at Juno Settlement. How’re we doing over there, guys?”

This last sentence was directed to the two other members of their group. “Just about done with the bandages,” Skeppy called over in reply. “The armor got the worst of it, and the bleeding’s already starting to slow thanks to the health pot.”

“Good. Fundy, when you’re all done, go have a seat to the side and rest for a minute.” Bad came over to George’s left and pressed some gauze to the side of George’s head; the archer didn’t need to be told to hold the gauze in place, so his hand moved automatically when he felt the fabric press against the wound. “Sapnap and I are going to start tending to the horses, so Dream?” He put the roll of bandages into the wanderer’s hand. “I want you to take George over to where Fundy is and wrap up his head for him. You don’t have any injuries of your own, do you?”

Dream shook his head. “Not anything serious, just…” He swished the side of his coat away to reveal two sharp lines of deep ruby red running sideways along the outside of his right thigh; the blood had already started to run down the length of his trousers and torn leather cuisses. “...got clipped by a couple arrows.”

Bad grimaced at the sight. “Looks pretty nasty to me.”

“It just needs a little bandaging. I can manage.”

“Right,” Bad said slowly. “If you’re sure, then do what you need to and join us when you’re ready.”

Dream gave him a nod. Seemingly satisfied with this for the moment, the captain looked to Sapnap and gestured for him to follow. Sapnap - though George could tell he was reluctant - left George in the wanderer’s care to go look after the animals.

George took a step forward to head over to where Fundy was now seated at the base of a tree, but the ground beneath him gave a small lurch to the side. He made a soft, surprised sound as his foot missed its mark and - 

“Woah, careful,” Dream said, catching George by an arm and a shoulder to steady him. “You... _ really _ hit your head hard back there, huh?”

George managed a huff of something that vaguely resembled amusement. “Can’t exactly stop gravity.”

“Okay, let’s take this easy, then…” 

Dream snaked an arm around George’s lower back and kept his other hand on George’s shoulder. Together, they made their way across the small glade. Though his dizziness prevailed, George found he was more easily able to keep his footing if he leaned into Dream’s side, and despite his own leg injury, the wanderer seemed to be able to balance for the both of them well enough.

They came to the tree Fundy was seated under a moment later. George lowered himself beside the scholar and briefly rested the back of his head on the tree trunk, only to lift it a second later so that Dream - who now knelt beside him - could begin wrapping bandages around the archer’s head like Bad had asked him to. Dream’s hands weren’t the gentlest, George wincing at the occasional tug and pull, but he worked quickly and, from what George could tell, effectively.

“How’re you holding up, Fundy?” George asked as he waited for Dream to finish wrapping his head.

“Fine, I suppose,” the scholar sighed, adjusting his grip on his wounded shoulder. “Just...really,  _ really _ hating past-me for not thinking to put Projectile Protection on the pauldrons  _ as well _ as the chest plates.”

“Couldn’t take every possible scenario into account, huh?”

Fundy shook his head. “But, damn, if I don’t  _ try _ … What about you?”

“I’ll be ok,” George replied. “Just gotta give the potion some time to kick in.”

George felt Dream’s hands vanish from his head, though the wanderer didn’t stand up quite yet. He took a moment to use the water in his canteen to rinse away the blood and dirt on his thigh. Then, he cut himself a strip of bandage to wrap tightly around the lacerations, hissing lowly under his breath. Once that was sorted, he stood up, and George watched him test the weight on his leg. He winced once or twice, but made no comment. Then, he gave one last look to George, and he almost seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but he instead turned and went to help the others without having said a word. There was a slight limp to his gait as he left, just barely noticeable.

George and Fundy sat in silence for a while, watching the others work on their mounts. Bad showed Dream how to pour water from canteens onto spare rags and add small amounts of healing potions. They then went about cleaning and gently dabbing the horses’ wounds with the watered-down brews. It wasn’t as good as taking the potions orally, but it was the best that could be done for the animals at the moment.

George felt a nudge on his shoulder, and he looked to the side to find Fundy was holding a charcoal pencil in his hand - probably from his pocket - and he had a familiar, meaningful look in his eye. George didn’t need to be asked; he just rolled up his sleeve and held out his bare arm to Fundy. The scholar took his forearm into his gentle grasp and began to draw Galactic runes onto his wrist. George didn’t know if the runes  _ really _ did anything without enchantments behind them, but that didn’t stop the growing sense of calm as he watched Fundy carefully etch ancient prayers onto his skin.

The archer took a long, steadying breath in; when he released it, he tried to dispel the lingering fear that had settled in his chest. 

_ “George, you nearly got run over and skewered by a couple lowlives - you could’ve died!” _

The Darkwood Bow hung on his back, just as silent in the face of death as ever. __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Part Two: Runica Forest! Pog! Next week, we're moving on to Part Three, and I am trying so so hard not to spoil anything out of sheer excitement right now, but let me just say, Part Three was one of my favorite sections to write so far.
> 
> See you all next Friday, and thank you again for all of your kind words in the comments and all of the kudos! <3


	11. Familiar Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (late) Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it! Hope you were all able to figure out a way to safely visit your family! Anyway, on to Part Three: Juno Settlement. Hope you enjoy!

They spent half an hour in the small glade before they set out again. The health pots for the horses were still kicking in, and the animals were in need of a break while they recovered, so the group elected to walk for a while rather than ride. This would have posed no problems for them, but Bad drew attention to Dream's injury just when they were about to set out - not that the man was doing much to conceal it. George had watched Dream as he helped the others tend to the horses, and the slight limp had steadily grown into a full-blown stagger in his step. Whatever determination and adrenaline that had helped him to ignore it before had clearly worn out.

But Dream just shook his head at Bad, offering a sideways grin. “It’s really not an issue. I’ve had to travel with a broken foot before, so I think I can handle a couple scratches. Save your health pots for something serious.”

Still, that did little to stop Dream from limping painfully as he guided them to Juno Settlement.

A little more than two hours into walking, the horses seemed to have recovered. As they mounted to continue on horseback, George was happy to find that his dizziness had almost entirely vanished, and the throbbing in his head had gone from brain-splitting to a tolerable ache, though louder noises were still not appreciated. Fundy appeared to be in much better shape as well, though he still needed help with the reins. Skeppy was glad to sit in the front saddle of Fundy’s horse and do the steering for him. The poor distribution of weight wouldn’t be good for the horse in the long run, but it was just a temporary solution to be used until the health pot finished stitching his shoulder together again.

With Skeppy riding with Fundy, Bad was not able to play his fiddle as they plodded along, and George found himself missing the sound. The Endomain felt different on this side of Pillager’s Barrow. The destruction was far more prevalent, and an eerie stillness had settled over Runica Forest. There were few animals about; the melody of birdsong was distant and hollow. Dream had advised them, with no small amount of unease, to have their masks perched on their heads rather than clipped to their belts, making them easier to access at a moment’s notice. It was still the middle of the day, but risks were not to be taken in such a place.

Conversation flowed, however, and despite his headache, George was grateful for something to break the chilling silence of the Endomain; and though Bad could not play his fiddle, he could still hum sweet melodies. They passed the time by chatting about idle things, retelling old stories and discussing their hopes for post-Aggression life. They all knew that the coming winter would be hard on all the communities in Othana, but if they could last to spring, then that would be enough.

Much like before, Dream contributed little to the conversation. His eyes stayed to the trees and shadows rather than the rest of the group, which was probably for the best. While George had no doubts that everyone there would be quick to respond to any sort of threat that arose, he had seen -  _ multiple _ times now - how fast Dream could move. If anyone was going to be first to draw a weapon, it was the wanderer.

Time trickled by, the sun sliding lower and lower on the horizon. “We’re getting close,” Dream told them in late afternoon, tapping his compass and reviewing his map.

“Besides everything you’ve told us so far,” said Bad, “is there anything else we should know about Juno Settlement?”

Dream paused. Adjusted his mask. “Nothing you won’t learn when you see it for yourself.”

And he left it at that.

Half an hour later, the woods began to thin out, and George found it increasingly difficult to navigate around the countless potholes carved out of the ground. Trees precariously balanced their weight on dismantled trunks, some bowing their heads mournfully until the once highest branches brushed the ground. The number of slouching trees steadily increased until there was a break in the forest and - 

Well, there it was: Juno Settlement.

Dream hadn’t been kidding when he said that the settlement couldn’t really be called a town. Its incomplete walls, half-dug trenches, ramshackle buildings, and huddled tents all gave off the same feeling of deterioration as the forest surrounding it. The ground was all dust and dirt, not a lick of vegetation in sight. Creeper craters littered the clearing, and sections of what looked to be the beginnings of farmland appeared as though they’d been trampled underfoot. Though, how they would get anything to grow here was beyond George; the dirt of the dead end seemed to be as fertile as stone.

Regardless of the state of disrepair it was in, the settlement was alive with activity. Through the gaps in their border walls, George could see people going about their lives: erecting houses, fixing old carts, and tending to animals. Around the perimeter, a handful of soldiers patrolled, armed with rudimentary stone and iron weapons. They seemed to be protecting - and occasionally helping - the workers digging trenches and making repairs on the walls.

Bad led their group across a dirt path to what could be called the front gates despite the fact that there was a massive gap in their defenses not ten feet to the right. Standing at the entrance was a brown-haired, hazel-eyed boy who couldn’t be a day over sixteen. He donned a rumpled uniform that had definitely seen better days; strapped to his back was an old iron sword and a shoddy bow, and a mask painted to look like bee stripes and wings sat atop his head.

When they were within ten feet of the gates, the boy squared his shoulders and held up a hand. “Stop.”

Immediately, they all halted.

The boy kept his hand up as his wary eyes swept over the group. He paused his search, pointed a finger, and ordered, “Off your horse,  _ Dream _ .” The name was said with a hint of vitriol, like one would utter a curse.

The wanderer sighed heavily and nudged George’s arm. The archer got the idea and let go of the reins on that side so Dream could slide off the saddle. He touched down on the ground with a stagger and a grunt, his wounded leg protesting. Once he was steady, he started to approach the gate.

Dream stood before the boy, as straight and tall as he could manage with his injury. The boy stared up at him, eyes sharp like bits of flint.

Then, without warning, the boy punched him  _ hard _ on the shoulder - “That’s from me - !” and clocked him across the jaw fast enough to send him reeling - “and  _ that’s  _ from Tommy, you dickhead!”

Dream didn’t even try to defend himself. Once he had gathered his bearings, he shifted his tilted mask back into place and cradled his reddened chin with a gloved hand. “Tell Tommy he’s got a mean right hook.”

The boy was not amused by the quip.

“Dream, what the hell was  _ that _ ?” George exclaimed, looking between the wanderer and the boy. 

And as if he hadn’t just nearly gotten his lower jaw knocked clean off by a teenager, Dream shrugged. “Something that was justified.”

“‘Justified’ doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface,” the boy growled at Dream with a surprising amount of ferocity. “You have  _ no _ idea how much I’ve wanted to do that.”

“You said there was nothing else that we needed to know about Juno Settlement,” Sapnap reminded the wanderer, somewhere between confused and irritated. “What’s  _ this  _ all about?”

The boy shot Dream a look. “You didn’t tell them?” 

“Believe it or not, it doesn’t make for very lively conversation,” Dream replied bitterly.

“Of  _ course _ you didn’t.” The boy folded his arms. “Wilbur’s told me a lot about you since you scurried off, you know. Says you’re a sick-headed recluse with no sense of morality.”

Dream scoffed lightly. “I wouldn’t trust much of what he has to say about me. He’s a little biased.”

“Well, of the two of you, I can definitely say whose word I trust more. Hint: it’s not yours.”

Dream rubbed his jaw again. “Yeah, I got the picture.”

“Good.” The boy looked past the wanderer, then, to address the rest of the group. He exhaled, fiddled with the cuffs of his uniform for a few seconds, and asked in an even tone, “So, what brings you lot to Juno Settlement?”

George thought to give some sort of reply when he didn’t hear anyone speak up right away, but he was too busy trying to process what just happened to come up with anything. Who  _ was _ this kid? Why did he punch Dream? And why did Dream  _ let _ him? 

Finally, Bad spoke up for the rest of them. “We’re looking for a place to make camp for the night. We understand that the Endomain isn’t safe except for the dead ends, and Juno Settlement happens to be set up in our path of travel.”

“Right,” answered the boy with a brief nod. “Well, I know we don’t _want_ to turn anyone down, but we’ve had a few run-ins with... _shady_ _characters_ \- ” his eyes darted to Dream - “so we’ve got a few rules about accepting outsiders. Just for the time being, at least. Don’t know if you could tell, but uh, we can’t exactly take any more losses.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the hole in the perimeter wall. “Wilbur’s been really careful as of late.”

“Who’s Wilbur?” George prompted.

“Oh - Wilbur Soot, the mayor of Juno Settlement.”

“ _ Mayor _ ...?” George heard Dream mutter to himself, baffled. The boy shot him another cross look but didn’t say anything to him.

“Is it possible for us to talk to Mayor Soot to make arrangements for us to stay here?” inquired Fundy.

“Oh, yeah ‘course,” the boy answered lightly, “there’s just one thing…” He pointed to Dream. “ _ He _ has to stay outside the city walls. Under supervision.”

George half-expected some sort of reaction from Dream at that bit of news, but the wanderer hardly appeared surprised.

“And why’s that?” continued Fundy.

“There’s a reason we have the rules that we do,” was all the boy said to them.

George exchanged a look with Sapnap, who shrugged with his hands, just as confused as George was himself.

“We can’t leave our friend out here,” objected Bad.

“Sorry, I just -  _ can’t _ in good conscience let him back in,” the boy told them with a sad shake of his head, “so either he waits out here, or you  _ all _ stay outside these walls.”

“Dude, what the fuck did you do?” Skeppy asked Dream with a weak laugh, a nervous grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

Dream didn’t say anything, just directed his gaze to anywhere but the group.

“There must be something we can do to get him in,” Bad carried on.

The boy shrugged. “Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t. I don’t want to make any promises, but you could try to convince Wilbur of something. You look like good people, so there’s a chance he’ll hear you out. Regardless, the only way any of you lot are gonna stay here is if you talk to him first.” 

“We don’t have much of a choice, Bad,” George spoke up, giving the captain a sorry look. They were going to get nowhere like this, but it wasn’t like George was ecstatic at the idea of leaving Dream out here with a bunch of people who clearly hated him for whatever the hell he’d done the last time he was in Juno Settlement.

God, what the hell  _ had  _ he done? 

Bad looked as though he was going to argue further, but Dream stepped in. “Just go, you guys. I’ll wait here.”

“Are you sure?” prompted Bad.

Dream shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I knew there was a good chance something like this would happen if we came to Juno.” He looked over to the boy, and he added, “It’s not like I don’t deserve it.”

The boy looked right back at him, hard gaze unwavering. “It’s a little too late for apologies, so don’t even bother.”

Dream stared down at his boots, shoulders hunched. “I know.”

“Is anyone going to explain what the fuck is going on?” Sapnap finally blurted. “I’m getting lots of questions and exactly  _ zero _ answers.”

The boy addressed the rest of the group again. “I can explain to you why this man is a grade-A asshole on the way to Wilbur’s. There’s just one thing I have to take care of first.” He turned to the side, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “NIKI!” 

One of the soldiers who stood further down the wall, helping some of the workers, turned around - a light-haired woman in a similarly rumpled uniform. “WHAT?” she called back, cupping her own hands around her mouth.

The boy gestured to Dream. “WE’VE GOT A LITTLE BIT OF A SITUATION OVER HERE.”

The soldier - Niki, George supposed - laid eyes upon Dream, and immediately her entire posture went still and rigid. Then, she drew her sword, adjusted her yellow butterfly mask, and stalked her way down the field in record time, nearly breaking into a run. She didn’t miss a beat when she stepped up in front of Dream and pointed her sword at his throat, a snarl on her lips. “You psychotic  _ bastard _ -”

“H-Hi - ”

“Don’t talk to me,” she spat. She turned to the boy. “What does he want?”

“He and his friends are looking to make camp here for the night,” the boy replied. “I don’t know about  _ him _ , but I’m going to bring his friends to Wilbur to see what he has to say. I need you to keep an eye on him while I’m gone.”

Niki inched her sword closer to Dream’s throat; the wanderer leaned back minutely. “Gladly.”

“That’s settled then.” The boy gestured for the rest of them to follow. “Come on, I’ll take you to Wilbur.”

With some hesitation, the group dismounted from their horses and began to lead their animals through the gates. As George walked past Dream, he slowed down and, wary of the nearby soldier and her fiery temper, he asked in a whisper, “What the hell is going on? What  _ happened _ ?”

Dream looked like he wanted to reply, but his mouth twisted up before he could do so. He adjusted his mask once, twice, and a hand came to rest on the back of his neck.

Something was off. “...Are you alright?”

Dream just stared at him, and George wondered if he was trying to explain something to him with his eyes alone. But, the pale grin was untelling.

“Hey,” someone called from up ahead, making George turn; it was the boy, waving an arm. “You coming, man?”

The archer returned his gaze to Dream, who still stood with his neck in his grasp. His other hand was tapping against his thigh rapidly. 

George’s mind flashed back to the previous evening -  _ anxiety attack. _

George didn’t know exactly what Dream needed to calm down, but the first thing he could think of was to reach over and gently squeeze Dream’s arm in what he hoped was a grounding gesture. It must have worked, though, because the tapping stopped, and his shoulders slackened just a touch. A hint of a smile appeared on the wanderer’s lips, pained and light, but it was there nonetheless. 

A breathy murmur came then. George’s ears barely caught it: “...Thanks.”

George nodded at him. “Of course.”

Dream tilted his head at the others. “Go on. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” asked George, noting the deathgrip Dream’s hand seemed to have on the back of his neck.

“Go.”

George gave him one last squeeze on the arm, took the side of the bridle into his grip again, and he headed into Juno Settlement alongside the others with the boy as their guide.

The boy had a name, apparently. “I’m Tobias Innit,” he said. “I’m a soldier here in Juno.” He looked to Bad. “You are...?”

  
“Bad of Northwick Village,” answered the man in question. “I’m a captain in the Wickan Guard, actually.”

“Oh.” Their guide stopped walking to briefly salute. “Captain.”

An amused smile pulled at Bad’s lips, and he saluted back. “Soldier Innit. But you can just call me Bad.”

“And you can just call me Tubbo. That’s what most people do, anyway.” Tubbo started up again, this time walking backwards so he could address the whole group. “The rest of you from Northwick as well?”

  
“We are,” answered George.

“And where are you headed, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Golestiera.”

Tubbo’s eyebrows crept up. “Wow. That’s quite the trip. Any reason you’re headed down there in particular?”

Fundy grinned. “You ever heard of the Legends of Old?”

Tubbo had, as it would turn out, but he listened to Fundy’s retelling of the Legend of the First Aggression with rapt attention. Where there had previously been exhaustion, there was nothing but childlike wonder in that bright-eyed stare, and George was hit with the sudden realization that Tubbo was  _ young _ . Yes, he had assessed as much when he first saw the soldier, but seeing that unmistakably youthful energy first hand really drove it home for George. This soldier was a mere boy, nowhere near an adult. George wasn’t even sure if he was old enough to join a junior guard, which usually started to take fighters at the age of sixteen.

To think that Juno Settlement was in such a state of desperation that they had to rely on _child_ _soldiers_ \- the very thought made George’s stomach turn. Maybe _this_ was what Dream had meant when he talked about the things that the Aggression forced people to do. 

“...So now you’re off to kill the Dragon?” Tubbo was saying, pulling George from his thoughts.

“That we are,” confirmed Sapnap. “We’re going to end the Aggression so that everything can go back to normal.”

“Normal…” Tubbo sighed and adjusted the bee mask upon his head, smiling faintly. “That’s definitely something  _ I’d _ like to see.”

“Us too,” Bad said, offering a small smile of his own. “It’s a reason why we’re doing this in the first place. We’re trying to restore peace.”

“And maybe score ourselves a little fame and glory on the way,” Skeppy joked, and Bad elbowed him in the side playfully.

Tubbo laughed a little, the sound light and pure. Though, his expression darkened slightly as he asked, “O-okay, so, out of curiosity, how exactly did Dream become part of all this? When did you come across  _ him _ ?”

“It’s more like he came across us,” George piped up. “To make a long story short, we ran into him while caving a few days ago. He helped us out of a tight spot, one thing led to another, and how he’s traveling with us.”

“Uh- _ huh _ ,” said Tubbo. “You said you met him a few days ago?”

“Yes?” George narrowed his eyes at the soldier. “Why does it matter?”

“Oh, nothing. I just reckon he hasn’t really told you all that much, huh?”

“No, as a matter of fact, he hasn’t,” Sapnap said pointedly.

“But you said you would,” Fundy added, “so what exactly happened here with Dream in Juno Settlement?”

“He assaulted someone,” was Tubbo’s flat reply. “Turned around and fled shortly thereafter. We didn’t think he’d ever come back, but I guess we were wrong - ”

“Hold on, back up,” Skeppy cut in. “You said he  _ assaulted  _ someone?”

  
“Yeah.” Tubbo shoved his hands into his coat pockets, turned to walk forward once more, and looked down at the ground; the youthful energy was gone. “Pulled a knife on my brother Tommy. Nearly took his eye out, but thankfully the injuries weren’t the worst. The fight still happened, though, and Wilbur  _ definitely _ hasn’t forgotten, so, uh... good luck trying to convince him to let your friend in.”

  
  
  


Mayor Wilbur Soot, as it would turn out, occupied the town hall in the center of the settlement. It wasn’t any bigger than the other makeshift homes, nor was it any more extravagant. In fact, it appeared as though this so-called ‘town hall’ was really just a home that was repurposed for such a function. This idea was further supported by the fact that the overall layout of the building resembled that of a small common house with a narrow foyer that fed off into a cramped kitchen and compact den, as well as another hall, which led to what were probably bedrooms, by George’s best guess. Their horses had been tied to a couple wooden posts thrust into the ground - no proper stalls.

It was in the aforementioned den that the group came to face none other than the mayor himself. George’s first impression of him was...well, he didn’t give off a very ‘mayoral’ vibe in such quaint surroundings, and the vibrantly-colored mask that sat atop his beanie didn’t help. However, he sat at his desk with the air of a man who was in charge and knew it well. He wasn’t very old - fairly young, in fact, probably around George’s own age - though just by the way he sat, George knew that he would be towered over if the man stood.

(Not that that was saying much.)

The moment George and the others came into the ‘office’, Mayor Soot’s eyes darted across each of their faces, making a swift assessment of their presence. However, his carefully impassive expression softened into a smile when the soldier boy came into view.

“Ah, Tubbo,” greeted Mayor Soot, setting down his quill and carefully folding his hands atop his desk. “I see you’ve brought some unfamiliar faces.”

“Travelers who want to stay in Juno overnight,” Tubbo elaborated. “As per the new rules, I’ve brought them here to speak to you.”

“Right then.” Mayor Soot stood and walked around his desk so he could stand before the group. His eyes skittered over them once more, and he stuck out a hand to Bad. “I am Wilbur Soot, mayor of Juno Settlement, though if I hear you address me as mayor, I’ll break out in hives. Please just call me Wilbur. You are…?”

Bad took his hand and shook it. “Captain Bad of Northwick Village, and I’m not so big on titles either.” He released the man’s hand and gestured to the rest of them. “These are my friends, Skeppy, George, Sapnap, and Fundy. However, we’re missing a member of our party.”

Wilbur seemed startled by this. “Missing? They weren’t dragged off by one of those endermen, were they?”

“No no, nothing like that,” Bad assured him. “He’s waiting for us at your front gates. He...wasn’t permitted entry.”

Wilbur’s eyes darted to Tubbo. “You left someone outside.” He said it more like an accusation than a question.

Tubbo winced. “Believe me, you’ll be glad that I did.”

“Who is it?”

“Dream, you know, the guy with the…” He made a vague gesture over the side of his face, referring to Dream’s mask.

Wilbur’s expression immediately soured. “ _ Him _ ?”

“Afraid so. I didn’t think you’d want me to let him into the settlement, so I had him wait by the front. Niki’s watching him.”

Wilbur whipped back around to Bad. “And you’re  _ traveling _ with him?”

“Yes?” Bad said, sounding a little put off. “Look, from what we understand, he hurt one of your friends, but he’s not a bad person. I’m sure there’s an explanation for it all.”

Wilbur gave the captain and the rest of them an almost pitying look. “Oh, you have  _ no _ idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into, do you?”

“What’s so bad about Dream?” George demanded, he himself starting to get a little fed up with all the questions and lack of answers. 

“‘Dream’,” Wilbur muttered with a cold laugh, shaking his head and leaning back on his desk. “God, what a stupid fucking name…” 

Wilbur drew in a breath, collecting himself, and continued, “Look gentlemen, because you clearly don’t know who this man is and I know for a fact that he’s probably not going to tell you for a long time, I’m going to spare you the struggle: ‘Dream’ is a man named Doran Palmieri. I knew him when we were kids, I knew him as a teenager, and I knew him when he grew into adulthood. I was never fond of him, and he’s always been a little too clever for his own good, but I never had anything against him.

“Granted, that was my opinion of him  _ before  _ he went galavanting across Othana, playing into his fantasies of adventure and discovery with little direction or care. 

“He’s a changed man now. He stumbled across our little patch of salvation a week after we’d settled down, you know, covered in dirt and blood that wasn’t entirely his own and claiming he was attacked by monsters during his travels. We weren’t nearly as organized at the time, so we permitted him entry with little thought. I didn’t recognize him because of that damn mask, so he was as much of a stranger to me as he was to everyone else.”

Wilbur scowled. “I  _ knew _ there was something off about him the moment my friends and I met with him. He was quiet, reserved, refused to speak more than what was strictly necessary and even went as far as to completely ignore people who tried to approach him. Regardless, we let him stay the night.

“The next morning was when the incident happened. Dream was walking through Juno Settlement when he stepped right into the path of a horse-drawn cart. He was hit, obviously. Tubbo and I were walking past with our friends Niki and Tommy at the time, and Tommy was the first to jump in to help. Dream thanked him by pulling a knife on him and lashing out. Tommy defended himself, and soon a full-on fight had broken out. It ended with Tommy badly wounded and Dream himself barely touched.

“It was then that I was able to recognize him, and not only did I see the face of a man who had gone from respectable to nearly deranged in just the span of a few years, but I also saw that he bore  _ the Brand _ .”

“The Brand?” echoed Skeppy.

Wilbur threw a hand up in the air, annoyed. “Yes the Brand -  _ Ender’s _ Brand!”

“Oh, fucking hell,” Fundy scoffed, rubbing his forehead. “Please don’t tell me you actually believe in that.”

“And who might  _ you _ be?” 

“Someone who clearly knows a lot more about the supernatural than you do.” Fundy held his head up and explained, “Ender’s Brand exists, but there are no mentions of the so-called ‘curse’ surrounding it in the Legends of Old themselves. The mystical aspects are suspected to have been added on through oral tradition just to make the stories more interesting. It’s all superstition at this point. The magic of the Brand does  _ not _ exist.”

“Well, call it superstition, call it witchcraft, call it horseshit for all I care,” Wilbur nearly shouted in reply, abruptly standing from his desk. “I’m warning you, Dream is a bad fucking omen, and I don’t want him near me or my family  _ or  _ my settlement! I strongly suggest you gentlemen do the smart thing and leave him as soon as you get the chance.”

Bad bristled, stepping forward to meet Wilbur’s eye with a steady glare. “Excuse me, Mister Soot, but I don’t appreciate it when someone tells us what  _ he _ thinks is best for  _ our _ group. Keep your warnings to yourself, thank you very much.” Bad turned and stormed out of the room, saying, “Come on, guys, we need to have a word.”

George and the others followed him out, George being sure to shoot the mayor a hard look before turning the corner to shuffle past Tubbo and out the front door.

“Can I just say that I held at least a modicum of respect for Wilbur until he started spewing that Ender’s Brand bullshit?” Fundy ranted the moment the door was shut behind them. “Because up until that point I could understand where he was coming from, but then he started talking about the Brand and  _ God _ \- ” He placed his hands on the foxen mask atop his head, pulling at the straps in his agitation. “Really fucking irks me when people go around spreading and believing straight-up lies about the Legends, just pick up a damn book.”

“Language, Fundy,” Bad chastised with a sigh that seemed to be more for himself than for the scholar, “but I see how that can be frustrating.”

“What’s the deal with Ender’s Brand, anyway?” asked Sapnap.

Fundy waved his hand, fixing his mask with his other. “Some superstitious bullshit about a completely natural process, it’s not important right now. What we  _ should _ be worrying ourselves with is the matter at hand: what are we going to do about staying in Juno Settlement?”

“It doesn’t exactly seem like we’ve won Wilbur’s favor, and Dream isn’t even allowed within the city’s borders,” George replied. He shrugged, “I don’t think we’re going to be able to stay here.”

“I mean,” said Sapnap, glancing off to the side, “we  _ could _ .”

“And leave Dream by himself outside the settlement walls in the middle of an Endomain?” said Bad, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. Not only is it dangerous, but it’s just cruel. We’re a group, and groups are supposed to _stick_ _together_.”

“Okay, fine, sorry,” Sapnap surrendered, raising his hands up. “I just want to know why Dream would plot our course for a place where he knew he wouldn’t be welcome.”

“He must have had  _ some  _ reason to,” George tried, thinking back to everything Dream had told him about Endomains earlier that morning. “Like, he said that Juno Settlement was basically our only option. There aren’t any other significant dead ends in the area, this is the only place where we’re safe right now. Maybe, when he was plotting this out, he really saw no other choice.”

“We could make camp outside the walls,” Skeppy pointed out. “Technically, we don’t need to be inside the walls to be safe from the endermen. We’ve just gotta be inside the dead end, right?”

“This area clearly has a monster problem, though,” said Fundy, gesturing to the battered walls. “Outside of the city borders, and within the confines of the dead end, we have no cover, no caves to crawl into. We’ll be sitting ducks, if not to the endermen, then to the other monsters. We need the manpower they have here in order to survive the night.”

Sapnap ran a hand through his low-hanging bangs. “God, this is just one big mess. I’m just -  _ why _ did he think this was a good idea?  _ Seriously _ , to - to come back to a place where the last thing you did was publicly assault someone? And shit, Tubbo’s really young, so how old could his brother be? Did Dream attack a fucking  _ child _ ? And for no reason?”

“‘For no reason’ as far as  _ we _ know,” George reminded him. “I’m willing to bet there’s more of an explanation. Just... _ attacking _ someone out of nowhere doesn’t sound like something he’d do.”

“I agree that there’s a lot to this situation that we don’t know,” Fundy added with a nod. “I mean, Wilbur’s clearly got a bias, and he’s clearly dumb as shit, so I wouldn’t trust much of what he claims.”

Skeppy shrugged, saying, “Dream is... _ weird _ , but he’s not entirely insane. I think.”

“We need to hear Dream’s side of the story before we come to any conclusions,” Bad decided. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation as to why…”

Bad trailed when the sound of a door opening gave him pause. They all turned to look over to see that Tubbo had poked his head outside. “Sorry,” he said, wincing slightly, “am I interrupting something important?”

“...Not particularly,” Bad replied casually. “What do you need?”

“Wilbur wants to speak with you all again, if you’re willing. He has a proposition for you.”

“A proposition,” Sapnap echoed.

“Yeah, a proposition, a deal, an offer - whatever you wanna call it. It’s got to do with you guys staying in Juno. Dream too.”

Well.  _ That _ was certainly an interesting development.

Bad glanced around at the group, searching for any signs of opposition from the others. Clearly, he found none, as he replied, “Alright, we’ll hear him out.”

Tubbo nodded, opened the door all the way, and motioned for them to reenter the makeshift town hall. One by one, they all stepped back inside.

When they came into the ‘office’ for the second time that day, Wilbur was seated behind his desk again. His hands were clasped together, elbows propped up on the desk and nose pressed to his knuckles. His eyes were steadily trained on the object that sat before him on the table: his mask, vibrant colors and all. 

It was then that George took a few seconds to get a good look at it. It had been hand-painted, clearly, and very well at that. A large sun shone in the top right corner while buttercups sprouted in the bottom left; two bees and a yellow butterfly drifted against the blue backdrop between the mask’s narrow eyes. George wasn’t sure if Wilbur had this mask from before Juno Village burned down or if he had obtained it afterwards somehow, but the way he looked at it told George that maybe there was more to the mask than he initially thought.

It was only when everyone had piled into the tight room and stood motionless before the desk did Wilbur’s eyes shift from the mask to acknowledge them. There was something heavy and subdued in that look; the young man suddenly seemed decades older. He lowered his hands so they sat folded on top of the mask, and he addressed them with a polite, impassive expression. “I see I’ve got your attention.”

“We’re willing to listen,” Bad replied noncommittally.

A flash of a grin pulled at Wilbur’s lips, though his face ultimately remained untelling. He stood, bringing his mask up with him and placing it atop its perch on his beanie, the strap wrapped around the back of his head to secure it in place. Once that was sorted, he clasped his hands behind him. 

“Firstly,” Wilbur began, “I would like to apologize for my behavior. I’m not one to make excuses for myself, but I will admit, I’m under quite a bit of pressure at the moment, so hearing of another potential inconvenience really...put me over the edge, you could say. However, after some further consideration, I’ve decided that what I initially perceived as an inconvenience is a blessing in disguise - theoretically.”

Wilbur nodded at a window to the right of his desk. It provided a view of the going-ons of Juno Settlement. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the state that we’re in. I won’t even try to sugarcoat it - our situation is growing to be rather dire. See, our problem is this: Juno Settlement finds itself surrounded by Endomain territory with a smaller Creomain to the south east. We’re trying to create preventative measures against the endermen so we can light up the place, and we’ve decided to do that by digging trenches throughout the settlement to divert running water from a nearby river into our land. Unfortunately, we are continuously suffering from setbacks due to creepers coming along during the night and destroying our progress.

“As of right now, we are  _ very _ close to being done with the trenches and standard repairs on the walls. By tomorrow evening, everything should be ready, assuming we don’t experience any more setbacks tonight.

“There’s just one problem. This morning, a team of seven soldiers went out into the forest to give a report on the endermen’s activity during the night and to look for any indication that they are taking an interest in our little neck of the woods. All standard procedure. Unfortunately, some endermen were hanging about after sunrise and…”

It was then that Wilbur faltered in his speech, sighing softly as he glanced away.

“...Two lost their lives,” Tubbo spoke up, the entire group turning to look at the boy. He leaned against the wall, arms folded in a way that looked like he was trying to be casual but failing miserably. It just made him look small. “The other five were seriously injured.” He hesitated before adding softly, almost to himself, “T-Tommy was among the wounded, thankfully...”

At the crack in Tubbo’s voice, George couldn’t help but feel his chest clench. Fucking hell, he could  _ see _ that the boy had been through it just in the way he pressed himself against the wall, as if trying to sink into the structure of the house.

George caught Sapnap’s eye during the pregnant pause that followed. His friend looked...a little shaken. It was subtle, but it was there in the clenching of his hands and the off-balance shift in his shoulders.

_ God, we have no idea, _ George realized with sudden clarity.  _ We don’t have a goddamn clue what it means to be affected by the Aggression, do we? _

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Bad finally spoke up, brow knitted in genuine concern. “I know it isn’t easy losing soldiers...friends...”

Wilbur drew in a sharp breath, seeming to regain his composure. “We are down seven soldiers tonight,” he carried on, “and we’re already stretched horribly thin as it is. We don’t have enough warm, able bodies to defend Juno’s perimeter. This isn’t just a matter of being able to protect our progress on the trenches or the wall anymore; this is a matter of being able to protect  _ ourselves _ , all the weak and wounded and young and old we have living here. This is a matter of survival.

“...That’s where you lot come in.” Wilbur nodded to the boy in the corner. “Tubbo tells me that you’re planning on ending the Aggression yourselves by slaying the Ender Dragon.”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Bad.

Wilbur smiled wryly. “Then I hope I’m correct in the assumption that you all have  _ some  _ combat experience.”

“George and I are both members of the Wickan Guard and have been training since we were young,” Bad told him. “Sapnap has received some proper instruction from guardsmen in recent years and has done patrols before. While Skeppy and Fundy haven’t had any formal training, they’re just as capable as the rest of us.”

“Dream is strong too,” George added, receiving an encouraging nod from Bad. “I’ve seen him fight monsters. For lack of a better word, he’s ruthless.” 

“I expect nothing less of him,” said Wilbur. He clasped his hands together in front of his chest in a conclusive gesture. “Well then! This is my proposition: with seven soldiers down, we have seven spots open during the shifts tonight. I will permit all of you -  _ including _ that vagabond - to stay in Juno Settlement for the night and as much of tomorrow as you would like if each of you would take a shift. Accommodations for yourselves and your horses can be negotiated as well, if you so desire.”

“Just a fair warning,” said Tubbo from his spot against the wall, “when Wilbur says we’re spread thin, we’re  _ spread thin _ . The shifts here in Juno are long, with only two per night. It isn’t exactly what I would call ‘fun’. But, we’ve never had an incident of an enderman coming close to the settlement, so you’re much safer around here than you are out there, especially at night.”

“We’ve all dealt with late nights before,” Bad assured. “I’m confident we can handle it. We’ll need to talk to Dream about it first, though. I wouldn’t want to make any final decisions without his input.”

_ Probably for the best that we don’t thrust him into Juno without his knowing,  _ George thought bitterly.

“Of course,” said Wilbur, offering half of a diplomatic smile. “Let’s go have a chat with the crazy bastard, shall we?” 

With everything finally decided, the group, escorted by Tubbo and Wilbur, made the short journey back to the front gates where Dream and his appointed guard were waiting. The wanderer had seated himself so he leaned back against the gates’ threshold, one knee propped up while his other leg - his injured one, George recalled - laid flat. He was fidgeting with his scarf, which he had wound around his neck once more at some point, and he resolutely did  _ not _ look up at Niki, who stood just a few paces away. She held her sword at rest, but George could see the white-knuckle grip from a dozen meters off. 

Dream lifted his head upon their approach. George must’ve gotten pretty good at reading the wanderer’s mannerisms over the past few days, because he could tell that Dream was surveying the group by the minute turns of his head. When he noticed Wilbur was among them, he planted a firm hand on the wall beside him and pushed himself shakily to his feet. His mouth was all twisted up in discomfort as he moved, but he rose nonetheless. 

Dream stood straight to face Wilbur, expression falling to unreadable beneath the pale grin. Wilbur himself came to stand before him, giving Niki a placating gesture when she shot him an almost outraged look. Her fiery expression didn’t falter, but she didn’t say anything either; the sword remained in her hand. 

The mayor of Juno Settlement really  _ was _ tall, George realized as Wilbur and Dream faced each other. Even with someone as lanky as the wanderer, Wilbur still had a good few inches on him.

“Wilbur,” Dream greeted the man coolly.

“Dream,” he replied, just as cold. “Funny alias, that one. ‘Dream’. Do you mind explaining to me where you got it from?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Then I don’t care.”

“Well  _ that’s _ awfully rude of you,” Wilbur remarked, wounded. “Tell me, did you forget your manners when you forgot how to be a human being, or did you just  _ choose  _ to be an asshole?”

“At least _I’m_ aware that I’m a douchebag,” Dream shot back with a sneer. “Some of us aren’t so lucky.”

Wilbur frowned at him, as if disappointed. “I don’t like your tone,  _ Doran _ .” 

Dream flinched, mouth dropping open for a split second before curling into a glower again, and George didn’t miss the way his hand slid to his belt, where he knew the wanderer kept his knife. 

The other soldiers of Juno Settlement didn’t miss it either. Both Niki and Tubbo shifted their stances, Niki bending her knees slightly and Tubbo reaching back to wrap his fingers around the leather grip of his sword.

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “I do hope we’re not going to have another incident on our hands.”

Immediately, Dream’s hand dropped back to his side again, but the writhing tension in his frame didn’t lessen. “Don’t call me that,” he muttered.

“...Noted.”

The soldiers relaxed.

The two of them locked eyes with each other for a few seconds longer - or, they locked eyes as best they could with one party involved not really having any visible eyes to lock onto. In the end, Dream looked away first, head bowing minutely as he let out a tired sigh. His hand came to claw at the back of his neck for a moment before he pulled it away. Then, he raised his chin and asked, “What do you want, Wilbur? I don’t think you came all the way out here just to insult me, but I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“As much fun as that would be, no, I came here strictly on business.”

What followed was a far more civil discussion of Wilbur’s proposition, in which George took it upon himself to position his body so he put some sort of barrier between Dream and the mayor. He didn’t really think an actual fight would break out, but better safe than sorry. George noticed that Tubbo seemed to have a similar idea, standing next to but a little in front of Wilbur for the duration of the discussion. Niki stood at Wilbur’s side, and while her sword was finally sheathed, her lethally sharp glare was not. 

They ended up with two tents, care for their horses, and basic rations for all of them. In return, not only did they agree to take one shift on the night watch each, but Fundy also offered to enchant some of their tools, and George and Bad would be sharing what they knew about endermen deterrent strategies; Skeppy was happy to give them a few pointers on how to set themselves up for redstone lines in the future (when they finally had access to redstone supplies), and Sapnap promised to have a look at their armor to see if there was anything he could do to help repair it with what was available.

Dream, meanwhile, stayed silent and made no offers. Wilbur didn’t prompt him for any.

Additionally, Tubbo hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the shifts were long. Shift one started at eight in the evening - though it was advised soldiers arrive twenty minutes early - and ended at two in the morning, give or take half an hour. Shift two was from the end of shift one to around seven-thirty in the morning. That was around five or six hours a night, patrolling under complete cover of darkness.

“It’s tough,” Tubbo admitted to them with a shrug, “but what else can we do? We need to keep the monsters out, and we need to keep an eye on the endermen. Once we have the walls and trenches done, though, everything is gonna be so much easier and so much safer. All we gotta do is get through tonight.”

It was decided that George, Dream, Fundy, and Sapnap would be on the first shift while Bad and Skeppy would be on the second. However, there was one more spot left on the second shift, and after arguing about it with Tubbo for a (very awkward) moment, Niki decided she would be filling that spot during the second shift herself...on top of her first shift. The nonchalance with which she posed the suggestion told George that all-nighter patrols were commonplace. 

“Alright then, gentlemen,” Wilbur concluded, “glad that’s all settled.” He turned to the wanderer with a dangerous glint in his eye. “Dream, I hereby permit you entry to Juno. I ask that you please refrain from stabbing anyone here, or we might actually have to build a prison - which we  _ haven’t _ , up to this point.”

Dream gave him a sharp sort of smile that just  _ screamed _ ‘fuck you’. “I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT THEM!!! 
> 
> Wow not gonna lie, Wilbur and Tubbo are very fun to write. There is like.....SO MUCH I have in mind for Wilbur and Dream's relationship, but I can't talk about that /here/ because obviously.
> 
> As always, thanks for the kind comments and kudos. See ya' next week! :D


	12. Questions, No Answers

It was around five in the evening when they got themselves settled in their new accommodations. Their horses were tied up, fed and groomed by a few workers in Juno. They made camp not too far away and set up their two tents, which were just large enough to house three people each, more or less comfortably. There were no complaints about the tight quarters, though, as it was sure to keep them plenty warm during the night. Bad, Skeppy, and Sapnap ended up in one tent while George, Fundy, and Dream ended up in the other. After their sleeping bags had been set up and their supplies stored away inside, they took some time to hang out in front of their tents, sitting around a small unlit fire pit and eating the fresh meat and flatbread that had been provided to them as per the agreement with Wilbur.

As they ate, George would occasionally glance over at Dream, trying to get a read on him. The wanderer’s mild anxiety attack at the gates lingered in the back of George’s mind, and ever since they had returned with Wilbur in tow, Dream had seemed... _fine_ ; ignoring his less-than-friendly interaction with the mayor, Dream had given no indication that he was still uneasy (or more uneasy than usual, anyway). Either he really had calmed down, or he was very, very good at hiding his discomfort.

At this point, it could feasibly be either.

Regardless if Dream was still shaken or not, he picked at his food in relative silence, occasionally commenting but not saying much at all - typical for him, so it raised no concerns.

When George finished his own food, he leaned over to rest his head on Sapnap’s shoulder, groaning softly.

“Tired?” Sapnap prompted.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” answered George. “Today’s been... _ really _ long. And eventful. And my head still kind of hurts.”

“Well  _ that _ can’t be good,” Dream remarked around a mouthful of bread. “Are we sure you’re not concussed?”

Bad stood and crossed over the fire pit to check on George again, kneeling down and carefully tilting the archer’s face around like he had before. “Are you still feeling nauseous or dizzy, George?”

“No.” 

“Your eyes look fine, no uneven pupils.” Bad reached up to check beneath the bandages, causing George to wince slightly - “Ooo, sorry. But your head has definitely healed over some, so we know the potion is working. We could actually remove these, if you want.”

“Please. They started to itch hours ago.”

Bad took the dagger from his belt and made a small cut, then began the process of unwinding the cheap fabric. “You seem like you’re fine. I mean, I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen my fair share of concussions before - mostly from Skeppy.” He looked at his friend. “To be honest, I’m surprised you don’t have serious brain damage by now.”

“I wouldn’t be  _ too _ sure about that,” George muttered.

“Pretty much every concussion I’ve ever gotten was because of a complex redstone project that required some serious heavy-lifting,” Skeppy said, beaming with pride, “so I’d say they’re all worth it.”

Sapnap raised an eyebrow. “What about that one time you tripped down the stairs at Fundy’s place?”

Skeppy’s smile fell. “Okay, that only happened because  _ someone _ \- ” he whipped around to look at Fundy - “doesn’t know how to clean up his stuff.”

“It’s not my fault you have the spatial awareness of a newborn bat,” Fundy retorted. “Anyone else would have seen that stack of books.”

“A stack of books,” Skeppy fumed, “that was in THE MIDDLE OF A STAIRCASE. Is it really so hard to pick them up and _ put them on a shelf? _ ”

“I have better things to do. Besides, I know exactly where everything is. If I move anything around, I’ll lose it.”

“But I always see you organizing the saddlebags,” said Dream. “Wouldn’t that mean you’d lose track of your stuff in there?”

“Well, I don’t  _ live _ in the saddle bags like I do my house, and you guys keep messing everything up when you go rummaging for shit - 

“Language.”

“ - The bags might  _ look _ disorganized, but I’ve made sure that everything is in its proper place.”

“Watch,” said George, “we’re going to get into a fight, and we’re not gonna be able to get emergency supplies from the saddlebags because Fundy has everything quote-unquote ‘organized’.”

“Alternatively, we’re going to get into a fight, and  _ I’m _ not going to be able to get to my potions in time because everything is scattered around. Do you really want the guy who’s in charge of potentially life-saving supplies to not know where said supplies are? No? Then  _ shut _ .”

“Speaking of medical supplies,” said Bad, pulling away the last of the bandages, “Dream, how’s your leg doing? I noticed earlier that you still looked uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well,” Dream sighed as he picked at the lightly bloodied bandages wound around his thigh, “it hasn’t gotten worse, but it also hasn’t gotten any better. It's really not a serious injury, it just hurts a lot more than it should.”

“Patrols tonight are gonna have a lot of walking around,” Skeppy pointed out. “Are you gonna be cool with that?”

“Probably.” Dream let go of the reddened bandages, flattening them gently with the palm of his hand. “Tonight is just gonna suck, and I’ll have to deal with it.”

“I might be able to help with that.”

George and the others looked up to see none other than the brown-haired soldier boy approaching their camp. He had donned some proper armor at some point, leather straps and padding around his arms, legs, and shoulders, and a weathered iron plackart that was just a little too big for him guarded his middle. He held something tight in his fist at his side. The object was so small that his hand completely encapsulated it, making it impossible to tell what it could be.

Tubbo came to their campsite with purpose in his step and a hardness in his eyes that George was becoming far too familiar with. His shoulders were set straight and firm. 

He looked down at Dream, who he stood just a half-step in front of, expression unreadable. “...I don’t like you,” Tubbo clarified.

The wanderer nodded curtly. “I know.”

“I don’t think I ever will.”

“That’s fair.”

Tubbo’s mouth did something funny, like he was trying to physically force his words out. After a pause that stretched for a beat too long, he continued. “...But I don’t want to hold any grudges. Not anymore. I might not want to be friends with you, but I’d rather not make any enemies either. I...I’m fighting and dealing with too many other things at the moment to have one more miserable asshole against me.”

Tubbo brought his hands up in front of him so they clasped around the little object in his fist, and he knelt down on one knee so he could look at Dream eye-to-eye.

“So, I’ve brought a little offering just to show that I’m not against  _ you _ .”

He unfolded his hands, and resting in his palm was a little vial about two inches tall. It cast a faint glow on his fingers, the color reminding George of pink linen that had been bleached by the sun when hung outside to dry for too long; the liquid itself was murky and dark.

Tubbo held the vial between his forefinger and thumb. “This is a watered-down health pot with weakness added in. The healing aspect of it isn’t the best, but the mild numbing effects are still there. It’s got a little bit of a weakness potion to amplify those numbing effects, but the health pot keeps the weakness from affecting you. Basically, it’s not going to heal your wound very much, but it definitely will numb it.

“I don’t know how long ago you got your injury, and I don’t know how bad it is, but there’s one thing I know for certain: doing patrol with a leg wound sucks. So, I’ve got you this. It’s not much, but it’s all we’re able to make  _ and _ spare at the moment.”

Tubbo shifted his grip on the tiny bottle so he held it by the cork, offering the other end to Dream. The wanderer himself didn’t move, just stared down at the bottle, looked upwards at Tubbo, glanced around at Juno Settlement, and looked down at the bottle again. He lifted a hand and…

...gently pushed the bottle back towards the boy. “Sorry, I...I can’t accept this - ”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Dream, just  _ take _ it.” He grabbed Dream’s wrist and slapped the little bottle into his palm, then forced the wanderer’s hand to close his fingers around it. “I’m trying to make amends here, you’ve got to work with me, man.”

Dream huffed out a mirthless laugh. “I think we’ve flipped the script - ”

“I already know you’re sorry.”

Dream’s mouth remained open for a second, then shut.

Tubbo observed Dream’s shock for a moment, and he exhaled softly. “Something I’ve learned recently is that this world knows how to screw you over in more ways than one. This is me just trying to make it so there’s one less way.” He pointed to the bottle. “Drink that at least an hour before patrol, alright? It should last you to around the end of the first shift.”

“...Thank you, Tubbo.” The raw sincerity in the wanderer’s voice was enough to make George’s chest clench.

“Sure.” Tubbo stood up and dusted off his knees. “Just do me a favor - and this is to all of you…” He winced. “Don’t...tell Wilbur what I’ve done here, yeah? I don’t think he’d be too happy to hear that I gave Dream something from his private stash - ”

“His  _ what _ ?” Dream blurted, the softness in his tone gone.

“Private stash,” Tubbo repeated, tugging at the cuffs of his uniform and glancing away. “He brews them himself. They’re ‘for emergencies’ so uh...yeah, don’t tell him. See ya.” And he turned and scurried off.

The group watched the boy leave in stunned silence.

“...Well that was awfully nice of him,” remarked Bad.

“I...never would have expected something like that from Tubbo,” Dream said, looking down at the little bottle sitting in his palm. “And to take directly from  _ Wilbur _ for  _ me _ ? I’m almost tempted to tell the asshole just to rub it in his smug face.”

“Are we sure that’s not poisoned or something?” Skeppy pointed out.

Dream lifted the bottle up to cast light through its contents, most likely looking for a greenish tint. “I don’t think so. Fundy?”

“Toss it over,” the brewer said, holding out a hand. Dream did so, and Fundy caught it and brought it up to his face in one smooth motion. He felt the heft of the bottle in his hand, tilted it this way and that to observe the liquid’s consistency, and held it up to the light as well. Then, he uncorked it and gave the contents a brief sniff. He wrinkled his nose a little. “Oh, there’s definitely a spider eye in there, but it’s sweet too - sugar and mushroom from a  _ fermented _ spider eye, and a hint of glistering melon. Seems like Tubbo was telling the truth about the potion. It’s too thick to have poison in there, anyway.”

Fundy attempted to toss it back, but missed his mark by an impressive margin. The bottle landed in Sapnap’s lap. “Nice shootin’, tex,” the smith scoffed, handing the bottle over to George to pass to Dream.

“I still haven’t taken the bandages off my throwing arm, might I remind you.”

“Oh, muffins, let me help you with that,” Bad said, stepping over the fire pit to seat himself next to Fundy.

Dream turned the bottle over in his hands a couple more times. “‘Private stash’,” Dream muttered to himself, curling his fist around the potion once more. “Of  _ course _ he would have a ‘private stash’. He’s  _ always _ got to have the upper hand, doesn’t he?...”

“...So, you and Wilbur know each other,” stated George as he sat up and leaned back on his hands, peering at the wanderer curiously.

“Mm-hm. Unfortunately, we do.”

“He said something about knowing you when you were kids.”

“Yeah,” Dream exhaled, hiking up his knees to drape his forearms across them. “Our parents were close friends. We didn’t really get along - not in later years, at least.”

“No kidding.”

“What’s his deal with your real name, dude?” Skeppy asked. “He knows you go by an alias. Isn’t it, like, rude to call someone by their real name without permission?” He looked to Bad for guidance. “It is, right? I’m not getting that wrong?”

“No, it’s definitely rude,” Bad replied, nodding.

Dream scoffed, dropping his chin into the heel of his hand. “Like he cares. Wilbur’s from one of those high-status families, you know? They all think they’re ‘above’ aliases. They look down on the use of them because they’re ‘childish’.” Dream made heavy quotation marks with his available hand, and George could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “I know him, though. He called me that just because he knew it would get under my skin.”

“What about Tubbo?” asked Sapnap. “That sounds like an alias to me.”

“He introduced himself as ‘Tobias’,” Fundy recalled. “‘Tubbo’ doesn’t seem like it’s an alias, it’s just a nickname. Either way, the stigma around aliases is true. Like, I  _ have _ to go by Emerson Livingstone whenever I head out to conferences with my parents. The other scholars consider it improper to introduce yourself by an alias, regardless if you commonly use one or not.”

“In some of the places I’ve been, people won’t even employ freelance workers who go by aliases,” Dream added. “It’s a pain if you’re trying to get references for other jobs. You’ve got to juggle two sets of documentation to prove that both of the names are yours and ughhhh - ” He smacked his forehead on his knee. “I’m getting a headache just thinking about it.”

“Then don’t think about it,” George answered simply.

Dream, without lifting his head, gestured grandly with a wave of his hand. “Gee, George, what a  _ fantastic _ idea, why didn’t  _ I _ think of that, your wisdom truly knows  _ no bounds _ .” 

George snorted. “Thanks, I try.”

“So, when you came here last, you introduced yourself as Dream, right?” asked Skeppy.

Dream lifted his head into his palm again. “Yeah, of course. I almost turned around and left when I saw Wilbur lived here, but I figured he wouldn’t recognize me with the mask -  _ and _ the fact that I haven’t seen him in years. Almost got to come and go without him knowing it was me, but then…” 

“...The incident with Tommy,” Skeppy finished.

Dream tugged at his patchwork scarf. “Yeah…”

George saw where the conversation was going, but wasn’t entirely sure if he should lead the charge on it. His eyes flickered to Bad, who saw, immediately picked up on his intentions, and proceeded accordingly. “Dream,” he began in that gentle tone of voice that almost never meant anything good, “we’ve heard about what got you into so much trouble with the people here, but we want  _ you _ to explain to us. I know you’re reasonable, Dream, we all do - ”

“Speak for yourself,” Sapnap muttered; George smacked him upside the head.

“ - so I’m sure there’s a good reason as to why you lashed out at Tommy.” 

“Well, there’s definitely a  _ reason _ ,” Dream began slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, “but it’s a little complicated and hard to explain.” He paused, considering, then asked the captain, “What’ve they told you so far about what happened?”

“Wilbur said that you got hit by a cart while walking into the marketplace. When his friend Tommy went to help you, you pulled a knife on him and attacked him out of nowhere.”

Dream winced. “Yeah, that...sounds about right. Uh, let me think… You guys know habits?”

“Like, chewing your fingernails?” Skeppy tried. “Or cracking your knuckles?”

“N-No, not exactly, it’s more like…” Dream exhaled, fingers drumming rhythmically on the back of his neck. After a moment, he perked up. “Instincts!  _ That’s _ the word, instincts.”

He tapped himself on the chest demonstratively. “I spend a lot of time in the wilderness. Because of that, I’ve developed instincts to defend myself, and they’ve saved my life more times than I can count. If I see anything anything out of the corner of my eye, or I hear something unfamiliar behind me, the first thing I’m gonna do is try to arm myself somehow, because chances are that sound or that ‘shadow’ I spotted is probably a monster, or a wild animal, or a bandit come to mug me.”

“So you’re jumpy,” Skeppy tried to summarize.

Dream breathed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I’m  _ really _ jumpy.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with you attacking that guy?” prompted Sapnap.

“Instincts are more of an ‘act now, think later’ sort of deal, so they’re great for being out in the woods, but they don’t exactly translate all that well to…” He made a collective gesture to their surroundings with his available hand. “... _ civilization _ , I guess, just - places with other people.

“When I got hit by that cart, I got knocked flat on the floor and hit my head pretty hard, so I was having a hard time trying to figure out what was going on. Then, next thing I know, something’s grabbing my arm and - ”

“Your instincts kicked in,” finished George, the pieces falling into place, “like they did back at the river.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Wait, what happened at the river?” Fundy cut in.

“It was when you guys sent me to go find Dream,” George explained. “I found him beside a creek, so I tried to walk up to him, but I stepped on something and it made a really loud sound - and then Dream spun around with a knife in his hand.”

Sapnap’s head swiveled over, glaring at Dream. “Dude, what the hell!”

“I never would have attacked him,” Dream promised, leveling his masked face to look Sapnap in the eye. “Even if he had been standing directly behind me, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. My instincts tell me to arm and defend myself. They do  _ not _ tell me to attack people - I’ve made sure of that.”

“So what happened with Tommy?” questioned Bad.

“Well, like George said, instinct kicked in. I pulled out my dagger, which probably freaked him out because he retaliated by punching me in the face -  and  _ that’s fair _ ,” Dream added, patting his thigh with each word for emphasis. “ _ I _ was the one who pulled out a knife, so as far as he knew, he had to defend himself too.”

Dream exhaled, massaging his neck again. “The incident would have ended there, but I still didn’t know what was happening. All I knew was that something had grabbed me, and then it had attacked me, and my brain wasn’t willing to process  _ what _ it was that I was fighting. I only came to my senses when…” 

Dream faltered then. His hand came up to adjust his mask - twice.

“When what?” Fundy prompted.

Dream drew in a breath. “When my mask came off.”

“Your mask came off?” George echoed.

Dream nodded. “I-I have no idea how. Maybe Tommy pulled it off, or the strap came loose, but...it came off.” He tapped his mask with a jittery finger. “I rarely take this off. I only ever remove it if I have to or I’m - ” He inhaled shakily - “or I’m completely alone. So when my mask came off during the fight, it startled me enough to - ” Another gasp for air - “to sort of snap me back into reality. I-I-It’s like getting ice water dumped on your head, it’s - ” His breathy rambling was abruptly cut off, the hand on the back of his neck curling tighter and tighter, fingernails beginning to bite into his skin.

“...Wilbur said you ran,” Bad continued, voice soft. “Is that why?”

All Dream could do was nod.

George could tell that the wanderer was descending into panic once again. He considered trying to comfort Dream in the same way he had done earlier that day, but the way he was starting to fold in on himself told George that touch probably wouldn’t be welcome. He thought about what Dream had done the night before, when he had stood up and walked away. Maybe he could do the same thing now. All he needed was an out - 

“Hey dude,” said Skeppy, picking at his fingernails. “The bandage around your leg’s looking kinda gross. You might wanna go change that out for something fresh.”

George saw Dream’s head tilt downward to look at his thigh. “...Yeah.” Arms trembling, he planted a hand beside him and pushed himself up onto his feet. “I’ll - I’ll be back in a minute.” He turned and hobbled into one of the tents, the flap closing securely behind him.

A moment passed, and Bad gave a gentle sigh. “Thank you, Skeppy,” he murmured.

Skeppy just shrugged lightly, bumping shoulders with Bad.

Several minutes of silence followed, no one really sure what to say to fill it. George himself had no words and instead spent some time thinking about what he knew about Dream, turning it over in his head. It always seemed like he would get two more questions for every answer he got. Why did Dream always put a hand on the back of his neck whenever he was nervous? Did he really have Ender’s Brand, whatever that was? Why did losing his mask scare him so much? Why exactly did Dream and Wilbur hate each other? What had Wilbur meant by ‘forget how to be a human being’? Why did Dream give such a visceral reaction to hearing his actual name? Where  _ had _ he gotten the alias ‘Dream’? And his family - what of them? Where were they now? Did they know where  _ he _ was? Did they know he was still on the road? Did they know he was  _ alive _ ? 

George swallowed a groan and ran a hand down his face, pressing it against his lips. Questions, questions, questions - 

“You good?” Sapnap asked.

“Mmgngmngmm,” was George’s eloquent reply.

“Oh, I feel that.” Sapnap patted his thigh. “Rest your head for a bit, man. You definitely need it.”

George didn’t really have it in him to argue, so he slid down and laid on his side. He folded his arms over Sapnap’s knee and carefully cushioned his head in the little pillow he’d made, staring out across the firepit to where the others sat. He watched Bad and Skeppy hold another conversation in sign, only picking up on a few words and letters here and there, and he watched as Fundy took to doodling Galactic Runes on the heel of his boot, lips moving to mouth silent arcane scriptures. 

Eventually, Bad reached over to his side and pulled his fiddle from its case. He took his time tuning the strings, humming the tones as he usually did, later testing it with a few quick scales. Once he was all tuned up, he gave Skeppy a gentle nudge to indicate he was going to move, and he stood, briefly stretching his arms as he went.

“Fiddle dancing?” Sapnap inquired with a hint of surprise.

Bad shrugged and tucked his instrument under his chin. “I’m in the mood.” He looked to Fundy. “It would be nice to have a partner, though.”

“Can’t.” Fundy gestured to his shoulder. “I’m saving my strength for patrol tonight.”

“You don’t have to hold a fiddle to fiddle dance, do you?” George asked, raising an eyebrow at the scholar.

“Holding a fiddle - or at least pretending to - makes it easier to properly coordinate movements.”

Bad looked down, giving his best puppy-dog eyes. “Skeppyyyyy - ”

“Oh my God,  _ fine _ .” Skeppy rolled his eyes and accepted Bad’s hand up, dusting off his pants as he went. “Fundy, I need to borrow your fiddle - ”

“Absolutely not you cannot touch my baby - ”

“ - and that’s fair.” Skeppy held his arms up, miming holding an instrument of his own. “Okay,” he exhaled, “what exactly are we doing?”

“I was thinking…” Bad played a few thoughtful tones, idly dragging his bow across the strings. “...Something in waltz time - ”

“Three-four?”

“Yeah, three-four, just the standard movements. No need to make it complicated. I’ll lead.”

“Oh, good, because I hardly remember any of the steps at all.” 

Bad laughed lightly. “That’s alright. Ready?”

“Yup.”

Bad straightened out his shoulders and stood tall. He placed a foot behind the other and bent his knees, lowering himself into a bow as he played a long, low tone. Skeppy, after briefly rolling his eyes, mirrored the movement.

Once the tone had finished, Bad counted out a quiet, rhythmic, “One, two, three; one, two, three - ” and the two of them straightened out, taking a sliding step to the side in time with the first few notes of the lilting melody. 

The two of them danced around each other, feet drawing circles in the loose dirt beneath them. The capes of their clothes fanned out behind them with each spin and dip in their movements, a swirl of ruby red and ocean blue and heavy black and oaken brown. Bad was smiling as he twirled about while Skeppy’s expression was drawn hard with concentration as he tried to follow along. He stumbled a few times, feet catching on each other, but Bad would just grin and draw a note out a beat longer than necessary to give Skeppy the time he needed to recover.

George saw some of the residents of Juno Settlement look their way, checking over their shoulders as they hurried about in their rush to get ready for the coming night. Some spared them little more than a glance, shaking their heads and storming away with a visible bitterness. Others would pause in their tasks, watching from a safe distance as these two friends sloppily waltzed around each other. The dancing may not have been the best, but the music was pleasant enough.

The music, however, came to an abrupt halt when Skeppy spun the wrong way, and he and Bad ended up crashing together hard enough to send them both to the ground. Bad just barely saved his fiddle the worst of it by turning in time for his back to collide with the dirt. 

“Skeppy!” Bad exclaimed, sitting upright in a flash. “What the heck, you muffin head!”

“It’s not my fault!” objected Skeppy, sitting up as well.

“It  _ literally is _ ! You turned counter-clockwise when we’ve been going clockwise this entire time!”

“How is that  _ my  _ fault?”

Bad sputtered, gesturing out with his hands. “Because!  _ You _ turned! The  _ wrong way _ !”

“Well  _ I _ wasn’t the one speeding up the tempo,” Skeppy pouted as he folded his arms.

“I did not - !”

“Did to!”

It was at this point when George reflexively zoned out. Having to deal with those two idiots for nigh on a decade taught him many things - like how to tell when an argument was going absolutely nowhere. To think that they were roommates... If Ms. Itzler thought he and Sapnap were a disturbance, then George pitied whoever had the misfortune of sharing a wall with  _ them _ . 

The argument quickly dissolved into pointless bickering, and Bad ended up being the first to apologize...somehow. Skeppy stood up, helped Bad to his feet, and they started off on a second song, this one in a different time signature and slower than the first. Like the previous one, Bad didn’t sing. However, he did hum a tune to accompany the melody, stringing something together as they went along.

After watching them spin around each other for several minutes, George found himself getting seriously dizzy from all the movement (and being at eye-level with their feet certainly didn’t help things). He closed his eyes and listened to the flow of the music instead.

  
  
  


George managed to secure himself about an hour of light dozing before Sapnap roused him to go get ready for night patrol. He strapped on his travel armor, slung his quiver over his shoulder, buckled on his belt and dagger, and took up his mother’s bow. The glossy finish had been tarnished slightly by the tumble George had taken earlier that day. New scuff marks had appeared, and there was a discolored splotch or two of what had to be his own blood. Regardless of the grime, ‘ **E** **LEANOR** **D** **ARKWOOD** ’ still shone brightly against the oaken backdrop.

He, Fundy, Sapnap, and Dream gathered in front of their campsite to check each other’s gear for any loose straps or buckles. Once their armor was set, they said their goodbyes to Skeppy and Bad and set out for the front gate. George noticed that Dream wasn’t limping nearly as terribly as he had been before; the potion that Tubbo gave him definitely worked, then. 

It was a little before 7:30 when they located Tubbo, who was speaking to Niki by the gates. When she noticed them approaching, she gave the boy a pat on the shoulder and left to go attend to something on the wall. The boy turned around, greeting them with a light smile, hazel eyes bright beneath his bee mask. He proceeded to brief them on how the patrol functioned, going over the objective - deal with monsters quietly and from a distance, especially the creepers - and the approximate route they would take around the perimeter. Masks or eye-coverings were to be worn at all times after 8 PM up until 8 AM, and guards were not allowed to carry any light sources as they moved. If they were desperate for some sort of light, candles and a couple matches were kept in coat pockets for an emergency.

“Patrols are bow-heavy,” Tubbo told them. “The more people we have with ranged weapons, the better. How many of you are apt bowmen?”

“We all know how to fire an arrow,” George told him, “but of the four of us, I’d say Sapnap, Dream, and I all have the most experience. Fundy is far better at short-range weapons.” 

Tubbo looked to the scholar. “Would you fight better if you used your sword?”

“...Significantly,” Fundy admitted with a sigh.

“Stick with your sword, then. The rest of you can be on bows.”

“That’s great n’ all,” said Sapnap, “but I don’t have a bow.”

“That’s not an issue,” Tubbo replied, beckoning them to follow. “We have some spares in the armory; you can borrow one for tonight.”

The four of them trailed after the soldier boy as they wove through the groups of fighters heading to the gates to begin patrol. All of them wore dented, shoddy armor and bore weapons that didn’t look like they’d last for very much longer, but they marched all the same. George spotted Wilbur talking to Niki and another soldier as they huddled over a large parchment, probably a map. The mayor briefly glanced up as they passed, the narrow eyes of his vibrant mask peering at them for a moment before returning to whatever it was that Niki was pointing to.

“You limp seems better,” Tubbo remarked to Dream as they moved along.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Dream dusted off the fresh bandage, fidgeting. “The potion kicked in a little while ago. Hardly hurts now.”

“Good, good. Glad that was all sorted out.”

George saw Dream - in the span of about five seconds - open his mouth to say something, hesitate, twist his lips together, reconsider, and finally speak up: “...I hate to ask it, but…but where  _ is  _ Tommy? I haven’t seen him around.”

Tubbo’s gaze flickered to Dream, though for the most part, he kept his eyes ahead. “Tommy got hurt this morning. He’s resting right now.”

“Oh, I…I’m sorry to hear that…” Dream winced. “Does he know I’m here, or…?”

“Even if I could, I don’t think I’d tell him. He doesn’t need  _ you _ showing up on top of everything else.”

Dream tilted his head to the side, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That’s fair.”

Something about what Tubbo had said didn’t sit right with George, and he didn’t really like the implications. “Tubbo, what do you mean by ‘even if you could’? You  _ are _ allowed to see him, right?”

“Yeah, ‘course I am,” Tubbo answered, audibly trying to keep his voice light. “He’s just, erm...not...conscious right now. They gave him some potent weakness pots to put him to sleep for a little bit while they wrapped up the injuries, but he...hasn’t woken up yet…”

Tubbo tugged at the cuffs of his rumpled uniform, eyes trained steadily on the ground.

“...It’s fine though!” he added a beat later, lifting his head and setting his shoulders. “Tommy’s too stubborn to be down for very long, he’ll be up soon.” 

With no further comment, he jogged to a ramshackle structure a little ways ahead. After undoing the latch, he struggled with the door for a moment, jiggling the handle and pressing against the flat of it. Eventually, he resorted to turning on his side and driving his shoulder into the wood, which finally dislodged the stubborn entryway. The door swung open, and he led them all inside. 

Calling the structure an ‘armory’ was a little ambitious. George found it would be more accurately described as ‘glorified tool shed’. Various weapons and tools of a wide range of shapes, sizes, and overall condition either hung up on the walls or were neatly leaned on their sides on the ground. There were a handful of armor stands pushed against the left wall, each with a set of armor that had certainly seen better days.

The armor definitely caught Sapnap’s attention, and he surveyed the dented metal work with a trained eye. “You got a smith among you?”

“A couple,” answered Tubbo while Dream picked up one of probably no more than a dozen tipped arrows, examining the shaft. “We don’t have the resources to do extensive maintenance and repairs, let alone forge new armor or weapons. What we have now is whatever we had with us when Juno burned down, plus some other tools we’ve found or managed to make with our limited supplies.”

“Hm.” He rapped a knuckle against one of the chest plates and looked at Tubbo. “I’ll be sure to meet up with your smiths tomorrow morning and see how I can help.”

“That would be great,” Tubbo told him brightly. “Anyway, onto the bows.” He gestured to a line of seven bows of dubious durability hung on the wall. “It’s not much, but it’s all we’ve got at the moment. Take your pick.”

Sapnap moved onto the weapons, looking them over with a critical gaze.

“You know, once the Aggression is over, you should reach out to our council,” Fundy said, taking the tipped arrow Dream was offering to him so he could examine it for himself. “As a neighbor of Northwick, Juno Settlement could easily request aid. The council would be happy to work something out with your mayor.”

Tubbo gave a kind smile, though he squinted a little questioningly. “You all seem awfully confident you’re gonna be able to defeat the Ender Dragon.”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” remarked Sapnap as he looked over a bow. “Why not us?”

Tubbo huffed a half-hearted chuckle. “‘Why not’ indeed. But I guess I shouldn’t doubt you too much. Seems like you’ve got a bit of a celebrity in your midst.” He nodded at George. “You’re Darkwood, aren’t you? George Darkwood?”

George couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face - being recognized never got old. “That I am.”

“I thought those goggles were familiar. I wanted to say something earlier, but it didn’t feel like the right time.” Tubbo stuck a hand out to him. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

George grinned a little wider as he took the boy’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “The honor’s mine.”

Eyes shining, Tubbo rambled on: “I saw you at the Ramshorn Tournament this past winter - Tommy, Wilbur, Philza, ‘n I went - and let me just say, your skill with a bow is unmatched! Though, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a Darkwood.”

“What can I say, it’s in my blood.” Fundy scoffed, and George elbowed him in the side hard enough to cause him to choke on his breath. “Ignore him.”

The boy giggled. “Out of curiosity,” he continued, “what bow do you use?”

“I’ll usually use my reflex bow, but I can also use a longbow if the competition calls for it. However, this time around…” George removed his mother’s bow from his back and held it out demonstratively. “...I’m borrowing a relic.”

George knew he’d made the right choice, as Tubbo’s eyes fell upon the weapon with a surprising mix of childlike excitement and professional interest. “Oh, wow, that’s gorgeous.” He gestured sheepishly. “May I…?”

When George nodded, Tubbo made a small squealing sound - Dream snorted beside him - and eagerly took the Darkwood Bow into his grasp, though he held it with great care. He turned it this way and that, observing the tight curve of the embellished limbs and the details etched into the riser. “This is an old design,” he noted. “Probably from...thirty years ago? You weren’t kidding when you called this a relic.”

“It’s a very reliable bow,” George informed him. “It served its previous owner well.”

Tubbo turned the bow over to look at the other side of the riser; he ran a thumb gently over the name embossed into the wood. “This is General Darkwood’s bow?  _ The _ Darkwood Bow?”

“The one and the same.”

He breathed out a sigh of wonder, chuckling lightly. “It must be older than you are!” he exclaimed, grinning goodnaturedly. “And, wow, it’s in such good condition for its age…”

“I’ve been looking after it,” George answered with a small shrug. “I figured now was as good a time as any to take it out into the field again.”

“It’s  _ definitely _ a good time for the return of the Darkwood Bow. There are bandits out in Pillager’s Barrow now, did you hear?”

“Oh trust us,” said Dream, gesturing to the bandage on his leg, “we  _ know _ .”

“It’s a shame, really,” Tubbo carried on, frowning. “Juno went against the Crasmere Pillagers too, you know? The peace we all fought so hard to restore to the Fire Flats has been broken. Wilbur’s actually pretty pissed about it.” He handed the Bow back to George. “Once the Aggression’s over, I hope we can do something to fix it, assuming our resources allow it.”

“I’m sure Northwick would be happy to help,” George replied, strapping the Bow to his back once again. “I know I would.”

“Think I’ve found a bow,” Sapnap announced. He turned from the wall of weapons with a recurve bow in his grasp. It was made from a common oak, as far as George could tell, the riser rusting. “It’s a little beat up, but it’s a good size, and it fits comfortably in my hands. So long as I can shoot straight with it, I’m set.” He hooked his fingers around the string, lifted it up, and drew back to get a feel for its - 

“Ah ah ah, hold on!” Dream cut in, rushing a few steps forward and snatching the bow from his grasp.

Sapnap glared. “What’re you - ?”

“Old string,” Dream cut him off before he could get too angry. The wanderer tapped the nocking point with his forefinger. “Like, a  _ really _ old, ‘I-will-snap-in-less-than-five-seconds-and-smack-you-in-the-face-and-feel-no-remorse’ kind of string. Believe me, I speak from experience.”

“Wait, let me see,” Tubbo asked. Dream handed the bow over to the boy, who quickly took it and observed the serving. A second later, his eyes went wide. “Oh my God, you’re right! How did we miss that? It’s practically unraveling. We’ll have to re-string this sometime tomorrow.” He took the bow and dropped it into a crate with various other weapons that looked a little more worse for wear. “Pick a different one, Sapnap, and I’ll check it before we go.”

Sapnap turned back to the wall of bows, and George nudged Dream with his arm. “Hey, good eye. Even  _ I  _ didn’t catch that one.”

“I’d be hard-pressed to miss something like that again,” Dream replied with a chuckle, rubbing the phantom pain on his cheek.

  
  
  


What George eventually found was that night patrol in Juno Settlement was just like dawn patrol in Southern Northwick except that it was much darker and it lasted much,  _ much  _ longer. Well, okay, now that he thought about it, the only substantial similarity the two patrols possessed was the strictly enforced silence. They worked in pairs instead of parties, and their patrol didn’t take them through a very specific route. They simply walked the perimeter, slowly and cautiously, keeping an eye out for monsters.

And there were monsters -  _ loads _ . As was expected, most of the creatures of the night were creepers, thanks to the Creomain that neared Juno’s borders. There was a fair bit of spiders and skeletons as well, all of which had to be quietly dispatched before they could sneak into town. There was no sign of endermen that night, though George could have sworn he’d spotted a flash of violet magic from somewhere between the trees; he also knew for a fact that his imagination had a habit of getting to him.

George, as he walked alongside Sapnap, wondered how Fundy and Dream were holding up. They hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to each other (not that they  _ should _ be speaking during the night patrol) unless it was to exchange information on monsters and Domains. George knew Fundy took a professional interest in them, and Dream knew plenty since his survival depended on it. Regardless, it was something they had in common. George hoped it was enough to spark some sort of companionship between them.

George adjusted his goggles thoughtfully, taking a half step closer to Sapnap as he heard a skeleton rattle somewhere nearby.

...Why did he want that, though, for Dream to get along with the others? He could brush it off, say that he wanted the group to work as a cohesive unit, that he wanted the infighting to stop. But George was more than a soldier...

George nocked an arrow on the Darkwood Bow and got behind Sapnap’s shield. Up ahead, a group of skeletons milled about the darkness and were making their way over to one of the gaps in Juno’s walls. With a nod to his friend, they started their advance.

...George wanted to be friends with Dream. Scratch that - he wanted Dream to be friends with  _ him _ . He wanted the wanderer to be comfortable around him, to trust him and feel safe with him. Why? He couldn’t exactly pinpoint the reason…

George drew in a breath and released it with his first arrow. A second and third quickly followed, stunning three of the skeletons to keep them from firing while the fourth’s answering arrow was deflected by Sapnap’s shield. George nocked two arrows at once and used them to shatter the right side of one skeleton’s skull; Sapnap fired an arrow of his own and rushed his target on silent feet, drawing his axe and arcing it into a fast downward strike all in one motion. The impact took the creature’s shoulder clean off.

...Why did people want to be friends with others in the first place? How did that happen? There was always all this talk about like-minded people gathering, but George and Sapnap argued all the time; they said common interest could bring people together, but George hardly knew a thing about redstone, and potions were still a mystery to him; he had once heard that similar personalities could attract one another, but he wasn’t nearly as bubbly and optimistic as Bad…

By the time George concentrated enough to nock another arrow, Sapnap had already finished off the remainder of the skeletons. He twirled his axe around and put it back onto its strap, then turned around to face George. Though his mask and the darkness obscured his features, George could sense the question:  _ “You alright, man? You were a bit slow back there.” _ George, in response, just nodded his head at Sapnap and went to collect his arrows.

...Maybe it was because Dream was simply... _ Dream _ . Something about the wanderer just clicked with George. It could be his strength, his humor, his energy in combat, his intelligence, his curiosity…

...It could be his silence, his thoughtfulness, his mystery…

...It could be the way he smiled so,  _ so _ sadly, the way he looked to be in desperate need of a friend…

...George loved his friends to bits; he wouldn’t trade them for the world. Each of them was a ‘one-in-a-million’, and George considered himself one of the luckiest men in all of Othana to know that he’d been fortunate enough to meet  _ four _ ‘one-in-a-million’s in his lifetime. Was Dream a fifth ‘one-in-a-million’? George couldn’t say for certain. But, he could say that Dream just  _ made sense _ even while George barely knew who he actually was...

...Though, regardless of all the unanswered questions, Dream was a good man with his heart in the right place, and to be honest, that was all George needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent /so long/ trying to describe what it means to Vibe with someone without using the word "vibe" you have no idea. 
> 
> Also, my beta would like all of you to know that she is very upset none of you noticed/commented about the symbolism behind Wilbur's mask because she (and I) spent a long time working out what his mask's design would be and what it would mean. Jem and I are disappointed in every last one of you, for shame. /j
> 
> Oh, and another thing: this reached 10k hits at some point during the week and holy shit hello internet!! Welcome to the madness that is this story!!
> 
> As always, all of your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! See y'all next week! <3


	13. Good Morning

Night patrol went by very, _very_ slowly. Walking the same relatively small perimeter got boring within the first hour, and the only thing keeping George awake was the constant threat of monsters and his own swirling thoughts about Dream and the rest of the group.

George was tired. That hour(ish) of ‘dozing’ hadn’t recharged him in the slightest, and he had been up since four AM. The encounter with the bandits had been brief but also successfully zapped much of his energy. One of the misconceptions about adrenaline was that it made the strain of the fight inconsequential. George decided that whoever claimed such a thing was a certified dumbass, and adrenaline did jack shit in the long run. All it managed to do was leave him exhausted and sore. The ache in his head was gone for the most part, but the occasional low throb would catch him by surprise. It wasn’t enough to warrant another healing potion, so he would just have to suck it up and deal with it.

The evening dragged on, and George was all too relieved when 2 AM came around. He could finally return to their camp and get some much-needed sleep.

There was just one problem: the soldiers who were supposed to take their place on patrol ran late.

By almost an hour.

In the end, Sapnap and George didn’t make it back to camp until closer to three in the morning. At this point, Bad and Skeppy had since departed for their own shift, and by the armor neatly laid outside the tent, covered by a thin sheet to protect it from the elements, Dream and Fundy had already returned.

Sapnap and George wasted no time when they got back to camp. They shucked off their armor as quickly and as quietly as possible, and once that was done, they bid each other goodnight with a pat on the shoulder and dipped into their respective tents. Just as was expected, Fundy and Dream were fast asleep on either side of the tent.

One thing George noticed as he settled in was Dream’s sleeping position - which was a really weird thing to notice, if he thought about it for too long, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t really seen the wanderer when he slept, as Dream had slept away from the group the previous night. Unlike Fundy (who had sprawled himself out so he was more on George’s side of the tent than his own, _fantastic_ ), Dream was curled tightly around himself, laying on one side, left arm pillowing his head while the right one was draped against the floor. 

Beneath Dream’s right hand, his long-bladed dagger gleamed in the faint moonlight peeking in from the tent flaps.

George blinked owlishly. **_Well_ ** _then…_ Without needing any further consideration, George was careful to lay himself a little closer to Fundy as he finally retired for the night. 

  
  
  
  
  


When George woke up to a sleeping bag in the face, his first thought was, _Well, at least it's not a pillow._ Then, his groggy half-asleep brain managed to process the fact that he was, without a doubt, painfully _awake_. Sunlight streamed in through the opening in the tent, hitting him square in the eyes. He threw an arm over his face and let out a frustrated groan.

“Yeah, me too, man,” Fundy sympathized from where he crouched beside George, patting the archer on the shoulder, “but it’s eight in the morning, and Bad wants all of us to get moving. We’ve gotta pack up camp and pay those favors we promised. Plus, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover according to Dream’s maps.”

George reluctantly dropped his arm to the side and sat up. He knew for a fact that he probably looked like death, because he definitely felt like it. Fundy, meanwhile, was rolling up his sleeping bag with the gusto of a well-rested man.

His liveliness was irritating. “And how exactly are _you_ so chipper this morning?”

“I’ve been up for a little while,” Fundy explained as he secured the last buckle around his sleeping bag. “We all have. Sapnap managed to negotiate an extra half hour for you to sleep since he said you seemed out of it last night.”

“Oh.” George drew in a deep breath and attempted to rub the exhaustion from his face. Finally coming to terms with the fact that he was going to have to get up, he held out a hand expectantly. “Toss me my shirt, would you?”

The shirt ended up in his face.

George glared. “Your aim is shit.”

“My aim is dead-on, thank you very much.” Fundy turned and exited the tent, adding over his shoulder, “We’ve got breakfast for you whenever you’re ready.”

George emerged a few minutes later, fully clothed with his goggles perched on his head as per usual. He dragged his belongings outside to finish packing so that the tent could be disassembled. Bad and Skeppy were off helping the stable hands feed and water the horses. Meanwhile, Sapnap and Fundy were breaking down the other tent, and Dream sat beside the campfire’s remains. A piece of dried meat hung half out of his mouth, his hands otherwise occupied with carefully unwinding the old bandages and gauze from his leg. George stuffed his things away and plunked himself down beside Dream. He took a strip of dried meat for himself, as well as a slice of flatbread. 

“Finally up?” the wanderer teased around the food in his mouth. 

“Barely.” George stifled a yawn. “Sapnap and I didn’t get back to camp until almost three AM because the soldiers who were supposed to replace us ran late.”

“So I’ve heard.” Dream threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Sapnap wouldn’t stop whining about it.”

“I wasn’t _whining_ ,” Sapnap scoffed as he laid the tentpoles neatly in the dirt.

“Then what do you call all the blabbering you did this morning when Bad woke you up?” Fundy asked.

Sapnap lifted his chin. “Voicing my objections.”

“That’s just ‘whining’ with more syllables.”

“‘Whining’ implies that I don’t have dignity - which I do.”

Fundy looked puzzled. “You do?”

Sapnap punched him on the arm, glowering, and the scholar just laughed.

George turned his attention from his friends’ bickering to what Dream was up to. “How’s your leg?”

Dream swallowed the strip of dried meat and removed the last of the gauze to reveal a pair of fading welts streaked across the side of his thigh. There was, thankfully, no sign of infection. It looked significantly better than it had the previous afternoon, actually.

“I think there was a little more ‘health’ in that ‘watered-down health pot’ than Tubbo thought,” Dream remarked, seeming to read George’s thoughts. He fished some fresh gauze out of his bag and cut a strip to lay over the injury. “It still hurts, but not nearly as bad. It won’t slow us down is what’s important.”

“I don’t want anyone to suffer pain from an injury if it’s not necessary...” Bad cut in. He and Skeppy approached the camp from where the horses had been tied up, dusting strands of hay from their clothes. “...but potion conservation _is_ a priority. The nearest place we’re going to be able to get more pots is Golestiera itself, and I don’t expect them to be cheap. Some of them - specifically the high-level pots like regen, fire res, and strength - were taken completely off the market when Nether travel was restricted.”

“And the materials to make them,” added Skeppy. “No blaze powder, no ghast tears, no magma cream. At least you can still grow Nether warts in the Overworld.”

Dream cocked his head at them. “And you know this because…?”

Skeppy lifted his arm and tapped at his screen. “Our contact in Zero Town. He’s keeping us updated on everything that’s been going on, just so that we can be prepared when we finally touch down in the city, you know?”

“Speaking of which,” George prompted the wanderer, “how’re we doing on progress?”

“Oh right, you weren’t around when I gave the rundown for today.” Dream stopped wrapping up his leg and pulled his notebook from his bag so he could open up his mammoth of a map. “Not much about the route has changed from what I’ve already said. Today, we’re passing through the heart of the Endomain.” He traced their plotted course, his finger passing by multiple sets of coords written along the edges of the chalk. “I’ll be sure to take us through as many dead ends as possible without backtracking. If we move at a brisk pace, we should be out of the thick of it no later than one in the afternoon.” He tapped a dark purple perimeter, which was surrounded by a light purple perimeter some distance out: the inner- and outer-Endomain borders, George figured. “From there, it’s smooth sailing.”

“It’s also important that we make decent headway today,” added the captain as he waved Skeppy over to the other tent. “Our goal is to reach Golestiera before nightfall tomorrow. We can’t travel after dark, so we’d have to make camp for an additional night, even if we’re just an hour away.”

“Which is a waste of time _and_ resources,” continued Dream. “Also, it means more chances of running into endermen, and no one wants that. Anyway, the point is that we’re going through the heart today, so we’ll have to be careful.”

“What time are we leaving?” asked George.

“Sometime between nine thirty and ten,” answered Bad as he and Skeppy began to break down the tent. “If we leave too early, we’ll run into dawn drifters, and we have to help Juno Settlement in the ways that we promised yesterday.”

“Right... How long until we meet up with Wilbur?”

  
“Dunno. Check your Screen.”

George tapped at the device...

  
  


_TIME: 8:12 AM_

  
  


...and noticed a few popups on his display.

  
  


**_WARNING!_ **

_- > WEAK SIGNAL: CHECK CONNECTION _

_- > 4% BATTERY: LOW POWER MODE ACTIVATED _

_- > ESTIMATED TIME LEFT: ~19 MINUTES _

  
  


“Skeppy, you got any redstone dust?”

“Oh, running out of battery?” Skeppy guessed, looking up from the tarp he was folding. He nodded his head to the pile where all of their gear had been collected. “Yeah, I do. Check my bag.”

George popped the last of his bread in his mouth and made his way over to the satchel. “I’ve got a notice that says weak signal, too. Anyone else have that?”

“We all do,” Sapnap replied, tapping at his own device. “We’re starting to get out of range of the functioning towers.” 

“And that’s not a problem for you?” George asked the wanderer.

He shook his head. “It shouldn’t be.”

That...wasn’t the most _reassuring_ thing for the wanderer to say, but George took it regardless.

George used some of Skeppy’s redstone dust to give his Screen a bit more charge, then quickly finished eating his breakfast while gearing up. They had planned to meet with Wilbur to discuss enderman deterrent strategies at 8:30, so a little rushing on George’s part was necessary. Though, he and Bad managed to get to the training field just in time.

The training field, like the rest of Juno Settlement, wasn’t really much of anything at all. It was only a patch of dirt just outside Juno’s walls where an area was designated for drills. It could have been literally anywhere else, but for some reason, _this_ was where they decided they wanted their training field. Maybe they had plans to build something out there one day.

When the two of them arrived at the field, they found Wilbur standing up at the front with Tubbo to his right and Niki - who looked especially tired, having just done a double shift, George recalled - to his left. Behind him stood a handful of other soldiers from Juno. George had expected more, but he also recalled the sheer number of people working on the trenches and walls that morning. It was supposed to be their last day of construction, so it made sense that most of the manpower of the settlement was going towards their defenses.

“Bad,” the mayor greeted, sticking out a hand to the captain, who accepted the offering with a hearty shake. “Pleasure to see you this morning.”

“Likewise,” Bad replied with a warm smile.

The mayor released Bad’s hand and turned to George. “And George Darkwood, pride of Northwick Village. I feel as though I should have recognized you sooner. I wouldn’t have realized who you were if it weren’t for Tubbo saying something.”

Niki giggled and corrected, “If it weren’t for Tubbo _fanboying_ , more like...”

The boy whirled around to glare at the other soldier, going red in the face. “ _Niki_!”

George just laughed lightly, keeping his attention on Wilbur to spare the boy any more embarrassment. “Well, you don’t need to worry about that. I’m just a guy passing through, nothing more.”

“I didn’t think a Darkwood could be ‘just’ anything,” Wilbur replied with a teasing tilt of his head.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” George accepted the compliment as graciously as he could manage.

“Alright then,” Wilbur continued, making a conclusive gesture and addressing the both of them, “I have gathered my fastest-learning soldiers. We’re ready for your instructions.”

In order to teach the defenders of Juno the deterrent strategies Northwick had developed, George and Bad gave a demonstration first. Using an old armor stand to act as the ‘enderman’, Bad described how soldiers should operate in pairs, working in perfect tandem to cautiously approach the enderman, as well as what mannerisms they should look for.

“This tactic depends on deception,” Bad told the onlookers as he and George approached the ‘enderman’ with careful footsteps. “You need to get inside the monster’s head; you need to know what the enderman is thinking. Is it aware of your presence? If so, is it just curious, or is it wary? Making the enderman uneasy will lead it to attack, so it’s important to understand the difference. A good way to tell if it’s caught onto your presence is if it’s looking in your direction for long periods of time, or if it’s angling its body towards you. If it starts to get nervous, it will scratch the ground and twitch more often. Sometimes, you can even hear it grinding its jaw.”

“What do we do if we notice it’s starting to get nervous?” Niki asked, raising her hand.

“Come to a slow, gradual stop,” the captain replied. “Be sure to communicate this to your partner _nonverbally_ through discreet hand signals.” Using the hand that was closest to George, he made a two-fingered ‘peace sign’ along his thigh ( _“I think we need to stop.”_ ); the two of them gradually wound down their movements and halted. “Remember, you should be keeping your partner’s hands within your view at all times, since that’s how you’ll be communicating. Then, you wait for the enderman to settle down, and once it’s safe, you signal to your partner - ” he made the ‘peace sign’ again ( _“I think we can continue.”_ ) - “and proceed cautiously.” They started walking again.

When they got into position, Bad went through the steps on how to execute the assault: what to look for in the enderman’s movements and when to strike. Once that was all done, it was time to let the others test it out. Wilbur and Niki went first, Bad watching Niki’s movements and George observing Wilbur’s.

“Eyes down, Wilbur,” George advised as the man went along, holding his sword in a tight grip. “You have to keep everything in your peripheral. A mask can protect you from a glance here or there, but too many direct looks will make it suspicious.”

Wilbur obliged, tilting the narrow eyes of his mask down slightly. “...Why _does_ a human’s gaze anger them?” the mayor wondered.

“No one really knows,” George replied. “We understand that the Aggression made them aggressive towards humans, so if they know we’re human, they attack. They can barely see, but there’s something about our face - or more specifically, our eyes and our gaze - that gives us away. There’s a lot of theories about the eyes being ‘gateways to the Soul’ that radiate Soul energy, and endermen can detect that energy. So when we look at them, they detect the presence of a _human_ Soul and attack. Supposedly, the mask disrupts that transmission of energy, or the unhuman-ness of it confuses them.”

George gave a small shrug. “That’s what I’ve been told, anyway. Fundy would know a lot more about it. He’s the one who helped drill our Guard on all things enderman.”

“Fundy…” Wilbur sounded skeptical. “He’s the one who didn’t believe in the Brand, correct?”

“He says that it’s a natural process,” George replied simply.

Wilbur hummed and turned his attention back to approaching the ‘enderman’.

Once Wilbur and Niki had gone, Tubbo and another soldier George didn’t recognize stepped up. Bad went to observe the unfamiliar face, so George was left with the boy.

“Smoother steps,” he instructed, “and keep your shoulders in line with where its eyes would be. That’ll turn you so that you appear narrower in its vision - less human-like.”

“R-right, right,” Tubbo mumbled, shifting his stance, “sorry.” He drummed his fingers on the grip of his sword - 

“Don’t fidget either.”

\- and his hand went still. 

After the boy got into position on the other side of the ‘enderman’, George was sure to keep a watchful eye on Tubbo’s movements. He held his sword out to the side so he could be ready for the assaut. ( _Good…_ ) Despite the mask, George could tell that the boy was concentrating hard by the thin line of his lips, but he still kept his eyes down towards the floor. ( **_Very_ ** _good…_ )

To simulate the shuffling step forward of an enderman, Bad took a long stick someone had pulled from the forest remains scattered about the dead end and stood behind the armor stand. He placed the stick on the stand’s base and held the other end. He was then supposed to give the ‘enderman’ a little nudge forward, and that would be the bottle-bearer’s que to move. Tubbo would have to watch his partner carefully, as he was supposed to follow the other’s lead. If the bottle-bearer didn’t move, then the sword-bearer couldn’t advance either, since attacking without water first would compromise the maneuver.

Bad paused a long time, not moving the armor stand in the slightest. Regardless of the wait, Tubbo held impressively still - no fidgeting, no twitching, no jitters. Just him and that white-knuckle grip on his sword - 

Bad twitched the ‘enderman’. George noticed that the bottle-bearer was a little slow to react, but the moment the soldier was in motion, Tubbo sprang into action as well. His sword came through at just the right moment: directly after the water had hit the floor. The hit was at the best angle as well: across the front of where the legs would be, just above the imaginary feet.

“... _Wow_ ,” George remarked before he could stop himself.

Tubbo turned around, fingering the grip of his sword again. “Uh, was...was that a good ‘wow’ or a _bad_ ‘wow’?”

“A _good_ one, a good one,” assured George with a grin. “Tubbo, that was pretty much a _perfect_ execution of the assault.”

The boy’s face lit up. “O-Oh my God, really?!”

“Yeah. I mean, your advance needs work, but as for the assault itself? That was great!”

“WOOO, TUBBO!” Wilbur shouted from the sidelines, clapping loudly, to which Niki added, “Yeah, go Tubbo!” There was a smattering of good-natured laughter from the other soldiers at the mayor’s antics, and a few of them hooted and clapped along. 

The boy chuckled weakly, ducking his head as George saw his ears turn red. But, Tubbo’s blazingly bright smile remained.

The rest of the soldiers came through in a similar fashion. Bad and George watched each soldier under a careful eye to note any strengths or imperfections in their technique, and they made them known so the onlookers could learn as well. Soon enough, they had gone through all the pairs. They also did a few rounds of Wilbur himself watching and critiquing the others, just to make sure that at least one person in Juno was capable of properly teaching the technique. The mayor turned out to be a quick study, as he was capable of seeing the errors his men made after just a couple rounds with Bad and George’s guidance.

When the lessons officially came to a close, the soldiers were dismissed to go attend to their chores and duties for the day, or to rest if they needed to. However, Bad and George found themselves staying with Wilbur and his two friends for a little while longer, walking back to the settlement at a leisurely pace. 

“We’ve taught you the deterrent strategies in the hopes that you’ll never have to use them,” Bad told Wilbur as they strolled along. “They work, but that doesn’t make the situation any less dangerous.”

Wilbur nodded sagely. “Yes, an enderman in our town is still an enderman in our town, there is no changing that. However, knowing that there is something we can do about it will be important not only to the safety but also to the peace of mind of everyone here in Juno - including my own.”

“We already have so many things to worry about,” Niki sighed, pushing up her yellow butterfly mask. “It’ll really be nice to have one less burden.”

“Before now, did you guys have a plan for if an enderman appeared in Juno?” George asked, pulling his own goggles up now that he no longer needed them. 

“Not really, no. That’s why it’s such a relief.”

“Our best plan was to just splash it with a bucket of water and hope that would kill it,” Tubbo elaborated. “We _knew_ that a bucket of water alone wouldn’t finish it off, but it was all we’d got at the time.”

“That might’ve bought you time to run,” Bad mused. “Any enderman would be stunned by that, so it would probably take longer to react and alert a horde.”

“But to organize and evacuate so many people in such a short amount of time?” George questioned.

“Not everyone would make it out,” Wilbur concluded grimly, “and then where would we have gone? It’s just Endomain for miles and miles in all directions.”

“Well, now we’ve got a way to defend ourselves,” Niki reminded, smiling pleasantly.

“Indeed we do.”

“That reminds me,” Bad spoke up. “Those soldiers of yours, the five that were injured yesterday morning - how are they doing?”

“They’re doing well,” said Wilbur. “Four regained consciousness during the night. They have not shown any signs of infection or illness, they have been healing well, and they are in good spirits. It’s all we can ask for, really.” 

“And what of your friend, Tommy?”

The way all three of their expressions darkened told George everything he needed to know, but Wilbur answered regardless. “Tommy...is the one who hasn’t awoken yet. It came as no surprise, to be quite frank; of the five of them, he was the worst off.”

“Oh no,” Bad murmured sympathetically.

“Y-Yes, it’s…” Wilbur stammered, and for the first time that morning, the mayor’s impassive facade cracked. Something deep and pained ran through the lines of his face just like the previous afternoon, when he’d been sitting at his desk, staring down at his vibrant mask.

“...It’s been hard,” he finally admitted, voice horribly soft. He paused briefly when Tubbo leaned into his side, and Wilbur didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around the boy’s shoulders; he placed a gentle hand on Niki’s back as well. “It wasn’t looking good for Tommy yesterday. We had our...doubts about his recovery.”

The mayor took a fortifying breath and continued: “But, the important thing is that he made it through the night, and he is looking _significantly_ better this morning. In fact, we have hopes that he will regain consciousness within the next twenty-four hours.

“I’m hoping for sooner. With the walls and trenches most likely being finished by this evening, tonight is going to be the first night Juno Settlement will be lit up since its establishment. I want him to be awake to see it.”

“We’re all hoping the best for Tommy,” Bad promised solemnly; George nodded his agreement. He understood loss intimately, but he hadn’t ever been forced to watch as someone he held dear suffered. It seemed like a different kind of pain than the one he was familiar with, plagued by uncertainty and helplessness. 

Wilbur smiled faintly at Bad’s words. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing Tubbo’s shoulder briefly. “We appreciate that.” 

“You know,” Niki said after a pause, “Tommy will be pissed as all hell if he misses Juno’s lighting up.”

“Oh, God,” groaned Wilbur, tilting his head back, “he’ll be _unbearable_.”

“Y-You do realize that Tommy isn’t going to believe anything we’ll tell him about the past couple days, right?” Tubbo spoke up. His voice was a little choked, but the lightness of humor was there all the same. “Like, Dream showed up again? And he was with _George Darkwood_ ? And then we learned how to fight an enderman? Oh, he’ll be _furious_ about that last one...”

Wilbur chuckled fondly. “We’ll never hear the end of it from him.”

For the remainder of the walk back to Juno, Tubbo stayed tucked under Wilbur’s arm, and Niki remained right at Wilbur’s side, hands brushing as they moved along. 

  
  
  
  


Dream had been busy while everyone else was out filling their promises, it would seem. Bad and George returned to the campsite to see that everything had been packed away, the tents were gone, and the horses had been brought over. The wanderer stood in the center of the camp, holding a lead from each of the horses in his hands. The horses themselves, George noticed, were the only part of their equipment that had not been taken care of. Their coats were covered in dust, and the saddles sat among the bags.

Dream shrugged at them as they returned. “I would have groomed and tacked them up, but…”

“Right,” George sighed, hardly surprised. “Okay, you know how to mount a horse, you know how to ride a horse...kind of…and you know how to tend to a horse’s wounds.” George picked up a metal curry comb. “I’d say it’s about time you learn to groom and tack one.”

While Bad groomed the other horses with practiced efficiency, George and Dream spent a little while longer going through the steps one by one. The short metal teeth of the curry comb loosened the dust and dirt, which was swept away by a large bristled brush. The mane was combed out as well. George then showed Dream how to lean his weight on a horse’s side and run a hand down its calf to get it to lift its leg, which enabled him to scrape the dirt from horseshoes. Once the grooming was all done, George named off the different parts of horse tack as he demonstrated how to fit it all together with belts, buckles, and straps. 

As the two of them worked, the others returned from their own errands one by one, first Sapnap, followed by Fundy and Skeppy soon after. They helped Bad finish tacking up the other horses and secured the saddle bags as well.

“And, that’s it,” said George as Dream secured the bridle. “You’re all done.”

Dream took a step back and blew out a breath. “That’s...a lot of steps.”

“It is,” George chuckled, patting the stallion on the shoulder affectionately. “But, you do it enough times, and it’s muscle memory.” 

“You guys all done over there yet?” Sapnap called from where he stood beside his own horse, reins in his hands. “We’re waiting on you.”

“Just finished,” George told him. “Are we heading out?”

“We’re heading out,” Bad replied. “Come on.” And he led the group away from the remains of their camp. 

George handed the reins to Dream and quickly showed him where to stand and how to hold the reins in order to lead the horse properly. Once that was all done, George took the opportunity to sling his quiver off his shoulder and take a quick stock of its contents and condition. He recalled that some of the arrows had fallen out when he tumbled off the horse the previous afternoon, and while he hadn’t noticed anything during night patrol, he wanted to double check that there was nothing wrong with the straps. The quiver was supposed to hold projectiles in place during turbulent movement, so something must have come loose for so many to fall out.

As he checked on the straps, he found that the little toy arrow was still tucked between the outside of the quiver and one of the belts hugging the side. Smiling to himself, he checked the buckle to be certain it was secure, and moved on to the remainder of the straps.

They came to the gates of Juno Settlement just before ten in the morning. Standing at the exit were the mayor and his friends. Wilbur waved them down as they approached, a polite smile on his lips. “We just wanted to formally express our gratitude for your assistance in these trying times,” he told them, hands folded carefully behind his back and shoulders set firm. “Because of your help last night and this morning, we will be much safer and far more prepared for the coming days. We wish you the best of luck on your quest to slay the Dragon, and we would like you to know that you will always have an ally - and a friend - here in Juno Settlement.”

“Thank you,” Bad replied with a nod. “We’ll be sure to remember that.”

“Good luck to you guys, too,” Skeppy spoke up, “but I don’t think you’ll need it. You look like you’re well on your way to rebuilding Juno Village.”

Wilbur inclined his head. “Yes, we have come a long way, but we will take all the luck we can get in these dangerous woods.” 

“Oh, and that reminds me…” Niki spoke up, and she nudged Tubbo on the arm. 

The boy hunched up his shoulders, tugged at the sleeves of his uniform, and didn’t move.

“Go on, Tubbo,” the other soldier encouraged. “It can’t hurt.”

He still looked uncertain, but Tubbo stepped forward regardless. He shuffled past Bad and Skeppy, past Fundy and Sapnap, and at last came to where George and Dream stood beside their own horse.

He nodded at George. “I-I noticed during drills this morning that you use your goggles to protect yourself from endermen - which is really cool, by the way, but it got me thinking: the lenses on your goggles are made from glass, and glass can get scratched, or it can crack. If you’re traveling to The End, you’re probably gonna run into a lot of endermen, and it’d be bad if you got caught in a tight spot and you couldn’t see through your goggles or the lenses broke. So I, uh...I brought you this…”

Tubbo reached into his coat and produced a mask with the edges carved and painted to look like feathers of various shades of blue had been glued to it. The mask itself was a deep auburn brown with thin white and red accents.

“It’s one of the spares I’ve made,” Tubbo explained as George accepted the gift; the boy tugged at the cuffs of his uniform once again. “I don’t know if you’ll ever need to use it but, you know, just in case.”

George turned the mask over in his hands and felt the softened edges of the wooden sheet. “You made this?”

“Yeah - well, sort of. Niki’s a lot better at carving than I am, so she makes the masks themselves, but I get all the dyes and paint them.”

George turned the mask back to its front and admired the artwork. “Well, it’s really pretty.”

Tubbo grinned and nodded at him briefly in gratitude.

George wasn’t exactly sure where to put the gift, so he found a spot for it on his belt and clipped it to his hip by its strap. “It’ll be good for an emergency. Thank you.”

“Of course. Good luck - to all of you. Honestly.” He turned around to look at everyone in the group. “We have faith in you guys. There’s a lot of - ”

“Wilbur!”

Everyone’s heads swiveled around to see a man running up to the gate, frantically waving a hand to get their attention. His coat was unbuttoned and sliding off his shoulders, probably forgotten in his rush, and he nearly collided with a couple passing guards on his way over.

The mayor’s face turned hard and grave in an instant. “What, what is it, Jack? Has something happened?” he demanded.

‘Jack’, though he was completely out of breath, smiled and managed to wheeze out, “He’s awake! Tommy’s awake!”

“What?!” Tubbo and Niki cried in unison, Tubbo adding, “Really? He’s okay?”

Jack bobbed his head. “Just woke up a few minutes ago. He’s still a little out of it, but he’s mostly coherent. He’s been asking for you guys nonstop. We don’t know how long he’s gonna be conscious, so - ”

Without any sort of warning, Tubbo squeezed past the horses and raced off into Juno, uniform fanning out behind him.

Niki chuckled. “Hey, hold on!” She grabbed Wilbur by the hand and started to drag him along.

And Wilbur - he had a smile wider than the sky stretched across his lips. He offered them a quick, “I-I really must be going - ” before Niki yanked on his arm, startling a laugh out of him. 

Wilbur ran a few steps, then halted again; he turned around to add, “But one last thing before you all depart…” His smile turned sharp. “Dream, do me a favor and don’t come back here for a _very_ long time. Better yet, don’t come back here _at all_.”

And Dream flipped him off. 

Wilbur made a face, returned the gesture, and finally hurried after Niki and Jack.

George, Fundy, and Sapnap all chuckled at Dream’s shamelessly satisfied grin while Skeppy broke off into raucous laughter, only overshadowed by Bad’s appalled gasp of, “Dream! That’s rude!”

“It’s efficient,” Dream replied, dropping his hand. “Wilbur talks too much.”

“...But, honestly? Good for them,” remarked George. “They were telling Bad and I this morning how they weren’t sure when Tommy was going to wake up. They definitely weren’t expecting it so soon.”

And the sheer _joy_ on Tubbo’s face at the news was something that George found himself trying to commit to memory. The boy’s grin had been bright enough to put the sun to shame.

“It’s nice to know that it’s not all bad news out here in the Endomain,” Sapnap said, folding his arms contentedly. “They’ve still got a few good things going for them. I mean, rebuilding walls, finishing defenses, medical miracles? Sounds like a pretty damn good day for Juno Settlement.”

Fundy nodded. Then, he stepped over to the side of the front gates, took out his dagger, and began to carve something into the wood, murmuring a few vaguely melodic phrases under his breath as he went. When he stepped back, George could see a couple small Galactic runes drawn into the surface.

Dream hummed. “Fitting.”

“What’s it say?” George asked.

The wanderer gave a light smile. “‘Unbreakable Soul’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Part Three: Juno Settlement, pog!! 
> 
> Now, I got a few things to say, so strap in folks!
> 
> First of all, I didn't get to explore Dream and Wilbur's relationship as much as I would have liked to (plot had to plot, unfortunately), but because I'm mean, I will tell you this: in some universe not too different from this one, under just /slightly/ different conditions...Dream and Wilbur would've been like Bad and Skeppy. They would've been Like That. And that's all I'm gonna say :) Don't worry, though, I may or may not explore this in post-story works??? Let's get to the end of this one first though lmao.
> 
> Second, I drew Wilbur's mask! I don't claim to be an artist (I write for a reason lol), but I liked the idea, so I took out my tablet this weekend and drew something. Because I don't have a tumblr, Jem has offered a spot on hers, so go check it out! :D  
> https://jemthebookworm.tumblr.com/post/637261968054566912/wilburs-mask-from-the-end-of-the-beginning-on  
> (Please let me know if the link doesn't work I don't trust my computer as far as I can throw it which - you guessed it - is not very far at all.)
> 
> Third and finally, I'm gonna take a break for a little while because mental health and gosh finals sure are a thing that exists! I'll be skipping the next 1-2 Fridays, so I'll be back on either Dec. 25 or Jan. 1, depending on how I'm feeling. I'll definitely not be uploading next week, though.
> 
> Tl;dr, Dream and Wilbur have a history, I drew a Thing, going on break for a bit.
> 
> Hope you have a fantastic holiday season, stay safe out there, and as always, thanks for all the support. See ya'll later! <3


	14. Coordinate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOO 2021 LETS GOOOOO!!!
> 
> I'm back! I think going on break was a good call, and it gave me time to think and test out other ideas without having to worry myself over story updates and such. Thanks for being so patient! :D
> 
> We're on to Part 4: Heart of the Endomain. In case you need a refresher, George and the others have just departed from Juno after learning that the settlement will be lit up at night for the first time since its establishment and that Tommy has just woken up from his comatose state (big pog). Now, they're heading deep into endomain territory in the hopes of making it across unscathed.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the chapter!

After spending so long amid the sounds of life and civilization, George had almost forgotten the overwhelming silence of the Endomain. It was even worse than he remembered. Before, the birdsong was distant, and now it was nonexistent; before, there had been at least a few animals about, and now there wasn’t a hint of activity within the woodlands. The number of decrepit trees grew until almost every other oak bowed to the endermen’s oppression. The carnage of bushes and stones scattered around made for uneven terrain that was so terrible they were forced to keep walking so they could more easily lead their horses around the debris. The steeds themselves appeared to sense the malignant presence that frequented these woods; George could tell that they were uneasy by the swiveling of their ears. He wasn’t sure if they were just anxious, or if they actually heard something.

He desperately hoped it wasn’t the latter, because whatever they heard, George himself wasn’t aware of.

Dream had stopped them just before they crossed over from Juno’s dead end back into the woodlands.  _ “Listen carefully,” _ he said.  _ “From here on out, we have to be quiet, and we have to move quickly. Don’t speak unless you need to, and if you do, make sure to keep your voice down. Have your masks on at all times.” _

_ “Is there a chance that we’ll see an enderman?” _ Skeppy asked.

_ “Hope that we don’t, but if you do, say something. When it comes time to hide, get behind something or lay down on your back with your arms and legs tucked in. That’s all you can do.” _

_ ‘That’s all you can do.’ _ It was a terrifying thought. Using deterrent strategies wouldn’t work out here, as Dream claimed that most endermen wandered with at least one companion, sometimes in groups with as many as five. There was no denying that they were on the endermen’s turf now; they were at the monsters’ mercy.

It was a little before ten o’clock in the morning when they’d finally stepped into the heart of the Endomain. Dream said they would be out of the heart by one in the afternoon. The group faced three hours of this chilling silence.

Having walked through said silence for hours now, George could safely say that he despised it more than anything.

Dream’s promise to take them through as many dead ends as possible was clearly upheld. George - lucky him - got to see countless more examples of the endermen’s wrath, the scars that they left behind on the land that they razed. It was like splotches of infection, hives on sickly skin. The ground was little more than dust littered by twigs and stones. The air itself smelled of death, stale and lifeless.

It had been less than half an hour into their travels when they saw the first group of endermen they would come across. The monsters were spotted by Fundy, who hissed a warning to them under his breath. Dream looked in the indicated direction, saw the creatures huddled deep in the trees about seventy-five meters out, and froze, observing them under a trained eye.  _ “...They don’t see us,”  _ he’d murmured after a moment.

Bad nodded firmly.  _ “Then let’s keep moving.” _

The captain monitored their rear from then on while Dream took the lead, his map in one hand and a compass in the other.

By now, it was close to noon, and they had seen three more groups of endermen. Each time, Bad urged them onward once he got the wanderer’s reassurance that it was safe to do so. So far, the endermen had been at a great enough distance so that their horrid eyesight didn’t allow them to see the group. George and the others hadn’t had to hide -  _ yet _ .

Even with Dream having told the group that they were officially more than halfway done with this ordeal, George hadn’t settled down in the slightest. There was a restless energy buzzing under his skin, causing him to fidget with the reins and tug at his crimson scarf. It was similar to the anticipation he felt when gearing up to go on a monster hunt back in Wickan territory, or when he and Sapnap quietly made their way to the town center each morning for dawn patrol. Though, unlike then, there was an unnamed coldness in his chest. It spread its chilled roots through him until icicles hung from his ribs.

_ Dread... It’s dread,  _ he soon realized.

George swallowed hard and kept walking.

With a better understanding of exactly what these monsters could do, everyone was plenty more anxious about crossing through an Endomain, especially its heart. George would be lying if he said that he wasn’t relieved to find that he wasn’t the only one suffering from the stifling fear in the air. He wished that he could stand beside Sapnap, Fundy, or Skeppy as they went along, but with their horses, they could only walk so closely together. Since Bad was to their rear, George had to settle for staring at the back of Dream. He watched as the wanderer’s head twitched between his map, his compass, and the surrounding woodlands. It was a constant cycle: map, compass, woods; map, compass, woods; map, compass, woods. It looked exhausting.

They came to yet another dead end. This one was a little smaller than the previous ones, a fraction of the size of the dead end Juno Settlement had been situated in. There was still a little vegetation sprouting out of the ruined soil. But, there was no denying that the land was another glade ravaged by the Aggression. The destruction was pervasive.

It was then that Dream came to an abrupt halt for the first time in the past forty minutes. Everyone else immediately stopped, waiting to see if their guide would have anything to say. Had he spotted another group of endermen? No, he couldn’t have. His eyes had been trained on his map for a while now. So why had he stopped?

No one said anything, too afraid to break the careful silence. Instead, they watched with bated breath as Dream looked down at his map and compass, shifted his gaze to the forest, and returned it to his tools. Then, he knelt down and laid his charts out flat, patting it with jerky motions. He tapped at his Screen, scrolled through it, and gave a dissatisfied shake of his head, growling lowly. Abandoning his Screen, Dream whipped out his notebook and flipped hurriedly through the pages, muttering under his breath, “Coords coords coords, c’mon…” He stopped, ran his finger down a list, and compared it to something on his map. He slammed his hand down on the book with frustration. “Oh,  _ gods dammit _ .”

“What?” Sapnap prompted in a sharp whisper.

Dream ignored him. The wanderer picked up his compass and stood, turning in a slow circle. He motioned out in seemingly random directions with his arm and muttered numbers under his breath: “Two, ninety-three, sixty-eight. Two, ninety-two, eighty-seven. Thirty-two, twenty... No, thirty-two,  _ nineteen… _ ?” He dropped down on his haunches to look at his map again. “No, that’s… wait.  _ Nineteen _ ? That can’t be… ‘Cause that would mean you’re way over… Yeah, no, that’s gotta be wrong…right? But those dead ends… Oh hell, similar x-axis, of  _ course _ it’s a similar x-axis.” He smacked the forehead of his mask. “Stupid. Why did you  _ round _ those?”

“Dream?” George tried, still being careful to keep his voice low. “Is something the matter?”

The wanderer’s head popped up to finally address the group for the first time in the past several minutes. “...Oh. Right.” He closed up his notebook and tossed it into his satchel, then started to fold up his map. “I’ve gotten a little turned around, and I poorly rounded some of the coords logged on my map; I don’t have a way to correct them because we’re out of range of the server towers. I have a general idea of where we are, but it’s not precise enough to let us safely navigate. If we head off in an even slightly wrong direction, we might get extremely off course. We won’t pass through as many dead ends as we should - a larger risk of running into endermen.”

“So we’re lost,” Sapnap summarized.

Dream shook his head. “No, not lost. Just a little off-center. I need to get a better lay of the land to figure out exactly where we are.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” asked Fundy.

Dream surveyed their surroundings by spinning in a circle again, then hurried over to a tree nearby, one of the few that wasn’t hunched over. Without any further explanation, he hoisted himself up into one of the low-bearing branches and disappeared into the leaves with a soft rustle. He was surprisingly difficult to spot as he scurried up the oak. The branches hardly seemed to bow at his weight, and the darkness of his evergreen coat blended in with the browning shadows. Soon enough, he emerged at the top and walked out onto one of the highest branches that reached far out to the side. He paid the creaking arch of the branch no heed as he plopped himself down on the edge. Feet now dangling dozens of feet above the dusty floor of the edge of the dead end, George saw Dream smooth his map out on his lap and take out his compass, carefully examining the horizons and referring back to his instruments as needed.

“...It certainly looks like he has this under control,” Bad remarked flatly. 

“So, we’re just waiting on him now?” Skeppy asked.

“Seems like it.”

“I mean, he’s our guide,” George said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the tree that the wanderer occupied. “It’s not like we can actually go anywhere without him.”

“I wonder how long it takes him to recenter himself,” mused Fundy as he rummaged around in the potions bag he had slung over his shoulder, probably looking for his charcoal pencil. “He travels plenty, so he must be fairly quick, right?”

“Why the rush?” Sapnap said.

“We’re standing out in the open in the middle of an Endomain’s heart. Forgive me if I’m a little uneasy at the moment.”

“This is a dead end, Fundy. There isn’t going to be a single enderman around here. Isn’t that the whole point of passing through them in the first place?”

“Endomain hearts play by different rules,” Skeppy blurted in a rush of breath, snatching Bad’s wrist and pulling the captain down with him. “Guys, get down,  _ now _ .”

None of them asked questions. They each let go of the reins on their horses and dropped to the floor. “On your backs,  _ on your backs _ ,” Bad hissed at them. George pressed his back to the dirt, folded his arms in, and turned his head to the side to try to look past the horses' legs to see whatever it was that Skeppy had spotted.

There, standing on the left side of the dead end, were two endermen. They had probably stepped out of the treeline just a second before, and they were now in the process of poking around in the brush that ran along the edge of the clearing, running their serrated fingers through the skeletal branches of the dying shrubs. George could hear the low, distorted rumble of the monsters’ murmurings, saw their shoulders twitch and their legs sway as they balanced their bulk.

Just as George was beginning to think that the endermen were going to wander back into the woods, one of them twitched its head in their direction...and its head stayed there. George couldn’t tell if the creature was looking at them or something else - if he tried to get a glimpse at its eyes now, they were dead where they laid - but that didn’t stop his heart rate from steadily climbing up to a gallop.

His worst fears were realized when the enderman turned its head to make a noise at its companion, and now  _ both  _ of them were looking in their direction. That vaporous violet magic that hung around their limbs churned with more energy than before: something George knew was an indication that at least one of the endermen was contemplating teleportation.

Nothing about their body language indicated agitation, though that hardly mattered at the moment. Endermen were curious creatures at heart. If they took an interest in something, they were bound to go investigate.

One enderman cocked its head curiously, and it looked to its companion, and the companion made a sort of ‘shrugging’ gesture with its hands, and  _ oh no the magic is growing, they’re gonna move -  _

An arrow shot through the air, whistled between the endermen’s heads, and buried itself in the trunk of a tree directly behind them. Both creatures gave a warbling yelp and teleported a few feet away from each other. Then, they turned their heads to look at the arrow embedded in the wood.

George glanced up at the tree on the other side of the clearing to see Dream still sitting on the upper branch, his bow in hand.

This was their chance. “Bad, we need to move,” George whispered.

“No,” the captain answered sharply, head still turned away from George. “Their attention isn’t going to be held for long -  _ look… _ ”

George watched as the endermen investigated the arrow and saw the downward angle of the shaft. One of them tapped the projectile, and they swiveled their heads to look right at the spot where Dream was perched. 

George looked over as well and was relieved to see that Dream had retreated behind the leaves and branches of the tree. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to fool the monsters. In a flash of purple light, the endermen vanished from the base of the tree on the left side of the dead end to the one on the right - the one Dream was currently hiding in. 

A beat passed as the endermen peered up into the branches, trying to locate the source of the arrow... 

...The nerve wracking silence was shattered by - well,  _ shattering _ . A small object made of glass suddenly exploded across a stone about ten meters away from the tree. The sound was sharp enough to startle a jolt out of George, but he suppressed any other movement out of sheer instinct. He craned his neck to the side just in time to see Fundy flop onto his back once again. His potions bag was unlatched; George noticed he was missing a spare bottle.

Unfortunately, the noise startled the horses, who all gave a nicker and pawed at the ground with anxiety. The endermen, in response, split up to investigate the source of both of the sounds. One popped over to the broken bottle, and the other appeared closer to the group, tilting its head at the horses. Under any other circumstances, the animals would have been riled by the presence of a monster, but instead, the horses froze and fell eerily silent. It was like the enderman’s gaze paralyzed them, keeping the animals from trying to defend themselves.

_ Well, that would explain all the slaughtered livestock,  _ George thought distantly, trying his absolute damndest not to freak the fuck out because  _ holy hell _ , there was an enderman  _ right fucking there _ and it was _ staring  _ at them.

Just as the nearest enderman was taking a lumbering step forward, its companion gave a small grunt. The enderman approaching them vanished and appeared at the rock. 

George blew out a breath.  _ Too close. _

The endermen chattered in that low, distorted rumble of theirs. One of them pawed at the shattered glass, seemingly confused. With the bottle having exploded all over the ground, it was impossible to tell where the source of it was.

George was starting to see a pattern, and a plan came together in his head. He scanned the surrounding foliage for a plant that was thin and bushy - something that would make a lot of noise, but wouldn’t catch an arrow in its branches. He spotted a withering shrub about thirty meters away from the group’s position, right along the edge of the dead end. When he was sure that the endermen had their full attention on the bottle, he drew in a breath and executed his move. With lightning-fast movements, he sat up, drew the Darkwood Bow, nocked an arrow, aimed, fired, and collapsed back onto the floor, bow hugged to his chest.

And somehow, it worked. The shrub rustled, snatching the creatures’ attention, and they were at the bush in a blink of purple.

Soon after, George found his own arrow followed by another, this time from Bad. It arched a lot higher than George’s had and went much farther, hitting a plant somewhere in the main forest, out of sight. One of the creatures made a low, frustrated sound and teleported away; its companion was soon to follow.

“Everyone up,” the captain hissed; George and the others immediately sprang to their feet at the command. “George, go get Dream. The rest of you, handle the horses. I’m going to stay here and keep distracting if needed. Everyone meet up at the far end of the clearing and get to cover. Now  _ go _ .”

Bad left no room for argument. Wordlessly, the others moved to fill out the tasks that had been assigned to them. George returned the Darkwood Bow to his back and rushed over to the right side of the dead end as quietly as possible and as quickly as he dared. He saw Bad nock another arrow and move further up the clearing. He took a spot behind a tree so he was out of sight of the endermen, who could be seen clawing at a bush some twenty meters into the forest.

George came to the base of the tree and looked up to see the wanderer scrambling down the branches with impressive speed. He slipped a couple times in his rush, barely catching himself on lips and ledges, and dropped the last distance, rolling soundlessly to disperse his momentum. He was up in an instant, and he whirled around to look at George, lips pressed in a hard line. George would have thought him fine if it weren’t for the subtle twitch in his hands and the minute shake of his shoulders.

George pointed at Dream and gave a brief thumbs-up while mouthing,  _ “You good?” _

There was a split-second pause before Dream replied with a hurried thumbs-up of his own.  _ “I’m good.” _

George nodded, turned, and pointed to where Bad was in the middle of secretively firing another arrow into the woods. Then, he pointed to the far end of the clearing, where the others were quickly leading the horses.  _ “We need to go.” _

Dream bobbed his head, and together, they moved along the edge of the dead end, not daring to wade through the shrubbery for fear of creating more noise. George was having a hard time keeping up with Dream, who was able to move at a brisk pace while barely making a sound. The wanderer kept twitching his head side to side as they moved; his hand rested on the hilt of his long-bladed dagger. Every now and then, George would chance a glance over his shoulder to check on Bad’s status. Each time he looked, the captain was still in the same spot as before, and the endermen had since moved their attention away from the bushes but hadn’t returned to the clearing. If they were lucky, the creatures wouldn’t move positions or go back to the dead end at all.

They got to the far end of the clearing and stepped across the forestline, ducking behind the first tree they saw and continuing through the tall grass with their heads bowed down and shoulders arched to make themselves harder to see. The others had led the horses about thirty meters into the woodlands to a dip in the terrain where they were more properly hidden. The horses’ ears were twitching side to side rapidly, and George could see the whites of their eyes. The others held the steeds’ reins in their hands, but kept their hold light. The animals would lash out if they were agitated any more, and no one could stop a horse from rearing if it wanted to - best not to unnecessarily get a hoof to the face.

“Where’s Bad?” Skeppy whispered once they were close enough. 

“He’s still hiding up at the clearing, last I saw him,” George replied. 

Skeppy made an agitated sound and handed his reins off to Fundy, then hurried up the slope and crouched low in the grass. “Fuck, he needs to get out of there.  _ Look _ …”

George crouched down beside Skeppy and peered between the trees to the dead end. Bad was still behind the tree, but the endermen were lumbering over to the clearing now. The captain seemed to be well aware of the monsters’ approach, given the fact that he’d traded out his bow for his shield and was in the process of carefully sliding to the ground, trying to make himself smaller.

George’s mind ran through all their options. “Bad stayed behind to serve as a distraction,” he thought aloud, “and now Bad needs a distraction himself… But there isn’t anything we can do. Any arrow we fire or bottle we throw will be seen coming from our position; we’ll give ourselves away.”

Skeppy tapped at his Screen pensively, eyes hard as he searched for an answer in the grass. Then, he lifted his head. “But what if it didn’t _have_ to be from our position?” George watched him as he slipped back down the decline in the forest to where the horses were and fished his satchel of redstone supplies out of the saddlebags. He rummaged around until he produced a small firework rocket, a portable dispenser, a bottle of slime, and an unactivated redstone torch. “Anyone got any string? And George, I’ll need an arrow.”

The archer could see exactly where this was going. “Sapnap, get up here and keep an eye on Bad, let us know if the endermen spot him.”

“Got it.” Sapnap brought the horses he was holding onto closer to Fundy so the scholar could keep an eye on them while he himself clambered up the slope and switched positions with George. 

George, meanwhile, jogged over to Skeppy. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver and asked, “Where do you plan on setting that up?”

“‘Bout forty meters that way,” answered the redstoner, stopping to throw a thumb over his shoulder as he slipped the rocket into the dispenser and locked it in place.

“Good. You got that Dream?”

“Huh?” said the wanderer.

“I want  _ you _ to take the dispenser and set it up. You move faster and quieter than the rest of us. The endermen are less likely to notice you.”

“Right, okay.” Skeppy handed the readied device and bottle of slime to Dream. “I’m assuming we’re pointing this into the dead end?”

“As far from Bad’s position as possible,” Skeppy specified. “Make sure we can see it from here. George has to be able to hit it with an arrow.”

“I’m a good shot,” George assured Dream. “Put it wherever you think best. Once you do, get back here as fast as you can.”

The wanderer nodded once, turned, and took off into the forest, running on silent footfalls. It was almost inhuman how quiet he was.

“The endermen have split up,” Sapnap whispered to them. “They’ve moved to either side of Bad’s hiding spot. Bad’s trying to hide himself between a tree and a bush, but he’ll be in plain sight soon.”

“We still need string,” George said. 

“I’ve got some.” Fundy, one hand in a saddle bag and a set of reins in the other, produced a little ball of twine from their supplies. He tossed it to Skeppy, who cut a strand with his knife. Then, he took the little redstone torch and activated the tip by striking it on the side of his chestplate. He gave the glowing torch to George, who held it on top of the far end of his arrow while Skeppy tied the torch in place.

“Is the extra weight going to be a problem?” the redstoner asked him.

“I’ll deal.” 

“One of the endermen is officially looking at Bad,” Sapnap updated them, voice rising in concern. “He can’t move now, he’s stuck.”

“How long do you think we have?”

“I’d give it another thirty seconds before shit goes south.”

_ That’s not a lot of time.  _ George looked over his shoulder to spot Dream adhering the dispenser on a rock with the slime Skeppy had given him, angling the rocket towards the dead end. A second later, he stepped away from the device, checked the angle one last time, and darted away, heading back to where they were hiding.

“Done,” said Skeppy, tying off the string. George tested the torch’s stability and decided it was the best they were going to do given the circumstances.

George took out the Darkwood Bow and nocked the modified arrow. With the top-heavy tip in mind, George took aim and started to adjust the angle of his shot as he thought was needed, testing the feeling of different directions. He had  _ one _ shot at this. He  _ had _ to get this right the first time. “Update,” George ordered.

Sapnap blew out an anxious breath. “Literally fire as soon as fucking possible.”

Dream was almost back; George nearly had what he believed was the right angle. “Skeppy, help Fundy with the horses.” The redstoner nodded and obeyed. “Sapnap, get ready to signal to Bad to come over. Firing in one…”

Dream heard him counting ducked behind a nearby bush.

“...two…” 

George drew in a breath. 

“...three.”

The archer let the arrow lose and watched as the burning tip seared a red streak through the air, arching swiftly downward. George’s heart stopped for a second when he thought he’d miscalculated the trajectory.

He hadn’t. The arrow smacked into the side of the dispenser, which caught the redstone current from the torch fixed to the side, and the rocket was fired into the dead end. A second later, there was a blinding flash of blue and red, accompanied by the clap of an explosion. The horses cried out in surprise, though the noise of their distress was drowned by the commotion, and Skeppy and Fundy were quick to settle them; George jumped in to help with the steeds, catching a glimpse of Sapnap waving his arm in a frantic ‘come here!’ gesture. Dream returned to the group as well.

“Bad’s making his way over, he’s signaled for us to start moving,” Sapnap told them, sliding down the slope to where the group was and grabbing the reins of one of the riled steeds. “We need to get the horses out of here, fast.”

“We’re not leaving without Bad,” Skeppy insisted, glaring at them as he wrung a set of reins in his hands.

“No, we’re not,” George assured him, tugging the reins of his own horse to get it into motion, “but the animals have to get moving. Bad will catch up in a second.”

Skeppy’s mouth twisted into a frown, and he didn’t start walking with the others; Dream took the set of reins from him. “Stay in the back, watch for Bad,” the wanderer compromised.

Skeppy hesitated, then headed to the rear of the group.

George shot Dream a grateful look. With that sorted, he and the others could work on leading the nervous steeds away from the clearing. A few seconds later, he saw one of the endermen go poking around in the woods over by the redstone dispenser setup. George desperately wished that the torch had extinguished by now; the glow was sure to be spotted by the monster at such a close proximity, and if those endermen were smart enough, they’d be able to connect the presence of the redstone to the presence of humans. Hopefully, the group would be long gone by then.

They were about fifty meters out from their original position when Skeppy cried out in a whisper, “Bad!” George whirled around to see the captain approaching from the side, picking his way through the bushes as quickly and as quietly as he could manage. He sprinted the last few feet and stumbled, only to be caught by Skeppy, who pulled him into a tight hug. Bad reciprocated instantly, wrapping his arms around his friend and pulling him close, eyes squeezed shut behind his dark mask.

Bad released Skeppy a moment later, and taking the redstoner by the hand, he hurried over to the group. “Are you guys alright? How are the horses?”

“We’re fine,” George told him, “and the horses are calming down. How about you? Are you okay?”

The captain exhaled, relieved. “I’m fine. Thanks for the cover, you guys.” 

“As if we’d leave behind,” Sapnap scoffed, folding his arms. “That’s not how we operate, man.”

Bad’s lips curved into a smile. Then, with his shoulders set and his hand still in his friend’s, he stepped into the group and ordered, “We need to keep going, we’re still too close to our original position. Don’t stop walking. Dream, do you have a better idea of where we are?”

“I do,” Dream said, fishing his compass out of his pocket. “I got enough information on the landscape to figure out what coords we’re near. I can get us back on track.”

“Good.” Bad took the set of reins from him. “Lead the way.”

The wanderer nodded confirmation, pulled out his map, and he continued guiding them through the heart of the Endomain. Just like before, Dream fell back onto that rhythm from earlier: map, compass, woods; map, compass, woods; map, compass, woods. 

Yet, George didn’t miss the way the wanderer fidgeted with the compass, or reached up to tug at his scarf, or adjusted his pale grin, or brushed his neck with the back of his hand; his gaze seemed to linger on the treeline as well.

George wondered if the others noticed too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the chapter title a pun? Maybe... >.>
> 
> This chapter isn't very plot-heavy, but it was fun to write how the group would go about avoiding a direct enderman confrontation. Also, don't ask me how I got those numbers for the coordinates Dream recites at the beginning, I don't know what they mean either lol.
> 
> Anyway, the next chapters are sure to have more plot-relevant stuff. Will we get some answers or more questions? When it comes to Dream, it's really a tossup. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated and help keep me motivated. Hope you have a wonderful new year's day! See y'all next week! <3


	15. Escalation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun drinking game: take a shot every time George says "what?" during this chapter.
> 
> ((Oh, and hold on! Tiny, tiny TW for a couple brief mentions of (unintentional) self harm. It's nothing graphic, I promise! Just wanted give you a little warning juuuuust in case. Stay safe out there. <3))

One o’clock came and went, and Dream kept them moving without much of an explanation as to why. George figured that their close-quarters encounter had delayed them a good deal, or they had already passed the borders of the Endomain’s heart and Dream was taking them out further just to be safe. Either way, they didn’t stop until closer to two in the afternoon. Their destination for the first leg of their journey was a small, shallow creek shaded by the first abundance of healthy trees George had seen in a while. On the trunks of one of these trees, a familiar, grinning marker was crudely carved into the wood.

Dream stood by the tree and tapped at his Screen. There was a satisfied upturn of his lips. He lifted his gaze from his device and said to them, speaking at a normal volume for the first time since they departed from Juno, “We’re officially out of the Mid-Eastern Endomain’s heart.”

George released a breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He could sense the underlying tension beginning to melt away from the group. Shoulders were rolled and loosened, arms were shaken out, hoods were pulled down, and masks were removed and clipped to belts. George himself pushed his goggles onto his head. He blinked up at the unyielding sunlight that burned its way through the autumn-toned branches overhead, squinting as his eyes adjusted. 

Sapnap bumped him in the arm, and George looked up at him. They stared at each other for a moment before Sapnap’s mildly shocked expression shifted into a grin, and he hooked an arm around George’s shoulders to pull him in for a crushing sideways hug, forcing a chuckle out of the archer. Beside him, George heard Skeppy let out a whoop of victory and crashed into Bad’s side for an embrace. The impact sent the laughing captain stumbling back into Fundy, who just barely kept the pair from tumbling over a rock by catching them in his own arms. 

They had done it. They crossed through the heart of Northern Othana’s largest Endomain and emerged unscathed. They would be out of the rest of the Endomain before long, and from there, it would be a clear shot to Golestiera. 

As they celebrated, George looked over to the wanderer, who watched them from his spot beside the tree. Arms loosely folded, he leaned back on the trunk with a foot propped up on the wood. That funny, lopsided smile tugged his lips at an odd angle, and George, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what it meant.

Dream must have noticed George looking at him, because the wanderer cocked his head to the side like he tended to do. Then, he lifted up his map and folded it over one hand while his other fished a charcoal pencil out of his satchel. He ambled over to the creekside, scratching notes onto his map as his lips moved in soundless mutterings. 

Once or twice, George saw the wanderer rub at the back of his neck; he kept writing regardless.

As was now their wont, the group decided to break for lunch at the waterside. While the horses drank their fill, food was passed around and canteens were topped off. George found that the strips of dried meat, berries, and bread they’d brought with them tasted infinitely better than they had this morning. Hunger was an excellent means of making anything taste good, and after all that walking, he was _definitely_ ready for something to eat.

Once he had eaten, George took some time patting some of the dirt out of his coat from when he’d had to lay down in the dead end’s dust to avoid the endermen’s gaze. He washed out some of the muck stains that had accumulated over the days as well and checked on the side of his head in the reflection of the water. As expected, the gash was little more than a discoloration now, a small bare stripe in his hairline. 

_ Maybe I could take a page out of Sapnap’s book and tie a bandana around my head,  _ he considered idly, combing his hair over the little hairless patch with his fingers. _ But that wouldn’t really work too well with my goggles on my head… _

“Need a hairbrush, pretty boy?” Fundy teased as he plopped himself down beside George by the creek.

George sputtered, whipping around to glare at Fundy. “Wh-what?”

“He forgot his make-up bag,” Skeppy said in deadpan, earning himself a snort from the scholar. 

“ _ What?! _ ”

“Oooo, yeah, could’ve sworn we grabbed that before we left,” added Sapnap with sickly sweet sympathy. He sat himself down on George’s other side and gave an exaggerated frown, almost like a pout. “Sorry, Georgie.” 

George managed a scoff and gave the smith an annoyed roll of his eyes, mostly to fight off the flustered heat that threatened to darken his face (because he knew that the moment he started blushing, it was all over). “Yeah, well - it’s not the end of the world,” he retorted with a cutting grin. “I’m still the best looking face here without it.”

Fundy gave an amused huff and Sapnap nudged George in the side playfully, only for George to shove him back with a chuckle. Meanwhile, Skeppy laughed and sat down on a rock beside the creek with Bad at his side. “Gee, George, you’re  _ so _ humble,” said the redstoner. 

“I know.”

“Hey, Dream,” the captain beckoned. “Why don’t you come over here and sit with us for a moment?”

Dream was standing a little ways down the creek. He had his notebook out and his map folded and tucked into the page; his head was ducked, and he pressed the tip of his charcoal pencil against his lips. The wanderer was motionless save for the incessant tapping of his foot and the occasional scratch of his pencil across the paper. As far as George knew, he had been standing there since they arrived.

The wanderer didn’t look up when Bad called to him. He just kept staring down at his notebook, lost in thought.

“... _ Dream _ ,” the captain tried a second time, a little louder than before.

Once more, the wanderer gave no reply.

Sapnap rolled his eyes. “Oh,  _ this _ again.” He picked up a twig and sent it flying with a flick of his wrist. It collided with the side of the pale grin; Dream let out a sharp gasp, jolting violently. His charts nearly went tumbling out of his hands, but he just barely managed to get a grip on everything before it suffered a watery fate in the creekside at his feet.

The wanderer’s head swiveled over. By the slight hunch of his shoulders and leaning of his head, George got the impression that the wanderer was narrowing his eyes at them. “Sorry, did you need something?” he prompted a little harshly, flattening his rumpled map.

“I just wanted to ask you if you’d like to sit with us,” Bad replied, and he shot Sapnap a look. “You didn’t need to  _ throw _ something at him.”

Sapnap just gave a shrug in his defense.

Dream shook his head and returned his attention to his book, though he responded, “I don’t mean to be so spacey today. I just have a lot to consider at the moment. Properly navigating Endomains can be tricky, so it takes a lot of my concentration to do it right.” He rolled out his shoulders, exhaling softly. “No room for errors.”

“But we’re out of the heart, aren’t we?” George asked. “You don’t have to be so concentrated on our exact location anymore. We can go back to traveling like how we did before.”

“I’ve still got to update my logs,” Dream replied, rubbing something out with the side of his fist and rewriting it. “I have to record enderman sightings, add to my notes on the dead ends we passed through, write down any additional signs of frequent enderman activity that I noticed on my way out so I can edit the borders if I have to.”

Dream meandered along the creekside and continued writing in his notebook, plattering away: “And just because we’re out of the heart doesn’t mean that we’re entirely out of the woods yet. We’re still technically in Endomain territory. It’s highly unlikely we’ll run into anything out here in the middle of the day, but the chances are nonzero. There are routes to consider, and we have to know what we want to prioritize: speed, or safety; ease, or efficiency. The terrain is pretty terrible, and…”

Instead of finishing that thought, he wrote something down in his notebook.

“ _ And _ …?” Skeppy prompted, motioning for Dream to continue.

There was a long pause before Dream twitched his head in their direction to look at them once again. “...Hm?”

Okay, Dream was ‘spacey’ at times, but this was a little much for him. Something about the way he tapped his foot, or fiddled with the pages of his notebook, or constantly erased and rewrote, or paced slowly back and forth along the creekside just felt  _ off _ to George. The wanderer’s hands shook a little more than usual, and he could see Dream chewing at the inside of his mouth - 

_ Oh. That would explain it. _

“Dream, have you eaten yet?” George asked him.

“Mmmmmmmwhat?” Dream hummed, glancing up from his notebook again.

“We stopped for lunch and I didn’t see you grab anything from our reserves.”

Dream returned his gaze to his charts and jotted something down. “Nope...”

“We did a  _ lot _ of walking today. You should eat something.”

“In a minute.”

George gave a small sigh. Oh, he knew that mentality well. (How many times had he himself said the exact same thing when he’d been training to join the Junior Guard way back when?) “Dream - ”

The wanderer abruptly stopped pacing. “ _ What _ ?” he snapped, fixing George with a glare that the archer could feel through the mask.

George lifted his hands in surrender. Alright, so another approach would be needed.

Fundy nudged him on the arm, and when George turned around, the scholar pointed off to the side. There, George could see Skeppy and Bad talking to each other rapidly in sign language. George didn’t catch all of it, but he definitely took note of the signs for ‘want’ and ‘eat’, and he was pretty sure he saw Dream’s name spelled out a few times. Eventually, Bad patted Skeppy on the shoulder and stood up, bringing a pouch of preserves with him.

The captain came to Dream’s side. He opened the bag of preserves, pulled a partial slice of bread out of the bag, and held it under the wanderer’s nose. “Can you show me what you’ve got plotted out for our course through the rest of the Endomain so far?” he inquired. “I want to know how we’re doing in terms of distance.”

Dream looked down at the bread, then glanced up at Bad, clearly understanding what the captain was up to. Bad just raised an eyebrow at him.

In the end, the wanderer sighed and reluctantly accepted the offering. Bad helped Dream hold up his book as he started to explain their options, Bad nodding along and adding a few comments of his own as they went. George watched them, noticing that Dream ignored the food in his hand at first, but over time, he started to take absentminded bites. Bad just kept him talking. They soon fell into hushed tones as their conversation went more in depth, huddling over the charts a few paces away from the waterside.

While Bad and Dream reviewed the maps and notes, George and the others had to figure out a way to pass the time. The answer came when Fundy retrieved his fiddle from the saddlebags. He tuned it up with practiced efficiency, ran a few quick scales, and stood with the instrument tucked under the side of his chin. He bowed and played a long tone, then slid off to the side with a spin, playing a swinging melody that had his feet gliding across the water smoothed stones. The song wasn’t nearly as lively as the ones Skeppy and Bad had fiddle danced to the previous day, but his movements were more fluid, more refined. Yes, Bad was a wonderful musician, and he could fiddle dance better than most could hope to, but there was no denying the artistry with which Fundy conducted himself. He had been playing the fiddle for as long as George could remember. One of his earliest memories of Fundy was when the scholar was no more than six years old, showing off the creaky, squealing scale his mother had just shown him how to play. 

When Fundy’s movements wound down with the end of the song, George and the others clapped politely. The scholar grinned at them and took a bow with a bit more flourish than was necessary, causing them to chuckle at his antics. Fundy then sat down on a boulder by the riverside and started to play idle tunes. George heard him murmuring the languid, lilting tongue of Galactic in time with the song. With a language already so melodic in nature, there really was no need to belt out the lyrics. The phrases were instead woven into the notes.

George rested his head on Sapnap’s shoulder and considered taking a nap right then and there, but he wasn’t sure how much longer they would be at the creek for. Regardless, his five-hours-at-best of sleep was definitely not going to last him through the rest of the day, not after all that walking they’d done.

George felt a weight rest on his head and heard a sigh from above. He glanced up briefly to see Sapnap had pressed his cheek against the top of his head and closed his eyes. George suddenly realized that Sapnap was probably just as tired as he was, if not moreso, as the smith had gotten even less sleep the prior night than he himself. George knew that Sapnap was decent at operating on less hours of sleep or on awkward sleep schedules thanks to all the times he’d had to stay at the forge overnight to keep an eye on projects that needed extra attention, but there was no ignoring the fatigue of travel.

George slung an arm around Sapnap’s back. Together, they rested their eyes and listened to the melodies Fundy strung together.

A few minutes into another one of the scholar’s ancient songs, Skeppy hummed thoughtfully, breaking the atmosphere; George opened his eyes to see that Skeppy had situated himself on another rock nearby, his legs stretched out in front of him as he tilted his feet this way and that. “Hey, Fundy.”

“Hm?” asked the scholar, lifting his eyes from the creekside.

“I just realized that you never told us about Ender’s Brand.”

Fundy stopped playing with a discordant screech across one of the strings. George felt Sapnap wince at the sound. “I...didn’t, did I?”

“Nope. What is it?”

Fundy seemed to struggle for the right words - the first time  _ that  _ had ever happened, as far as George was aware. The scholar's eyes darted around, as if searching for something. “It’s only a superstition, Skeppy. There’s nothing much to it.”

“But I wanna knowwww,” Skeppy complained, throwing his head back in melodrama. “C’mon, dude, tell me about it.”

Fundy bristled, his sudden agitation catching George by surprise. “The curse of Ender’s Brand is an old ghost story with very little merit and is, quite frankly, a dishonor to be uttered by any and all self-respecting scholars of the supernatural. Simply put, it is not worth my time to explain, so quit your whining.”

Skeppy narrowed his eyes at Fundy and leaned forward on his stone perch. “...You’re acting funny.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“What’s going on over there?” Bad called from where he and Dream now stood beside the horses, still reviewing the maps.

“You remember that ‘Ender’s Brand’ thing Wilbur was going on about yesterday?” George prompted.

“Yeah, why?”

George threw a thumb at the others sitting by the creek. “Skeppy’s trying to ask Fundy to explain, and Fundy’s being really weird about it.”

“I’m not ‘being weird about it’,” Fundy scoffed, “I’m simply telling you that it’s not worth it to speak of it.”

“Well, you said it’s harmless, didn’t you?” Bad said. “It’s just superstition.”

“Exactly - ”

“So there isn’t a good reason for avoiding the topic,” Sapnap cut in. “What’s up with you, man?”

“There is nothing ‘up’ with me - ”

“Then just tell us,” George replied with a shrug, trying to settle this before it got hostile. “I mean, I get you usually don’t have the patience to explain fancy magic stuff to us simpletons, but even for you, this is a little excessive.”

“Firstly, you’re not  _ simpletons _ , and secondly, I could hardly call this excessive.”

“Geez, Fundy, just humor us,” Skeppy groaned.

“Well, I don’t feel like it!”

“Why not?”

“Because…!” Fundy’s words caught in his throat, and after a pause, he deflated with a sigh. Then, he looked to Dream. “...This isn’t working.”

The wanderer stared right back, shoulders slumping. “Fundy, you  _ promised _ .”

Fundy gave him a hard, apologetic look and turned back to the others. “Last night, while Dream and I were on our way back from night patrol, I approached him about Wilbur’s accusations of the Brand. He asked me not to tell you guys about it.”

“What?” exclaimed Skeppy, puzzled. “Why not?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

Sapnap’s face turned stony. “So what, he’s having  _ you _ keep secrets from us now?”

George didn’t like where this was going; he held up a placating hand. “Hold on...”

The scholar straightened his back, set his fiddle down beside him on the boulder he was seated on, and folded his hands neatly in his lap. “Ender’s Brand - ” he began.

George saw Dream flinch. “Fundy - ”

The scholar plowed on. “Ender’s Brand is what - ”

“ _ Fundy _ \- ”

“- what forms when you - ”

Without warning, Dream dropped his maps and surged forward to clap a hand over Fundy’s mouth. “ _ DON’T _ .”

At the same time as Dream’s advance, several things happened at once. Sapnap was on his feet in an instant, hand going for his axe while George stood up right beside him to stop him from doing something brash. Exclamations of surprise overlapped as Skeppy also got to his feet and took a halting step forward. 

Bad was right on Dream’s heels. The captain got to him and Fundy quickly enough to separate the two before anything could escalate further than it already had. The moment Fundy was free, he staggered to his feet and bumped into Skeppy, who steadied him with a hand on his back. Dream, meanwhile, was pulled away by Bad. The captain kept the wanderer at bay with an inflexible hand planted on the front of his shoulder and a sharp glare.

Sapnap’s bark finally overcame the chorus of shouting. “WHAT THE FUCK!” 

“You PROMISED, Fundy!” cried Dream, pointing an accusing finger and stepping forward.

Bad lifted another hand to stop him and said in an even tone, “Dream, I need you to calm down - ”

“You promised you wouldn’t tell them!”

“Dream, please - ”

“No,” Fundy defended shakily, eyes darting about, “I-I promised I wouldn’t bring it up. I never said anything about being asked, th-there’s a difference - ”

“I DON’T CARE if there’s a difference!” raged Dream, Bad once more pushing him back. “They - they can’t know!”

“Why can’t we know?” George tried, desperately searching for answers.  _ (What the hell is going on?) _ “We already know that the curse of Ender’s Brand isn’t real,  _ right _ ?”

“No, it’s all bullshit! It’s…! It’s…”

And like a candle flame pinched by quick fingers, the wanderer’s ire was extinguished. A breathy, bitter laugh passed his lips unbidden, and he stumbled backwards, just barely caught by a now  _ very _ concerned captain.

“I-It’s…”

George’s stomach turned at the sight of Dream reaching up with both hands and digging his nails into the back of his neck hard enough to draw blood. His mouth was twisted up into a horrid amalgam of a nervous grin and a vicious snarl. Something was really,  _ really _ wrong about all this. George realized that this wasn’t just about the fact that Ender’s Brand was rumored to be a ‘touch’ or ‘curse’ or whatever the hell it was. This was about the fact that Dream  _ had _ the Brand in the first place. So what did that mean for Dream? Well, apparently he didn’t want them to know.

Dream was trembling now. Any and all traces of rage had fizzled out until there was nothing but cold fear left behind. He took two more steps back, pulling himself away from Bad. His head twitched side to side while he frantically glanced between the five of them like a cornered animal.

“It’s...it’s just too soon,” Dream managed to choke out between stuttering breaths. “You - you can’t know, you can’t, you  _ can’t _ , I’m not...not...”

Bad took a small step forward, reaching out. “Dream, are you alright?”

The wanderer recoiled, that gash of a smile finally falling from his face. “Don’t, p-please.” It came out as a whimper, soft.

“Okay.” Bad pulled his hands back and held them towards his chest - deliberately keeping them in view, George noticed. “What do you need from me?”

“I-I…” Dream kneaded his hands on the back of his neck and ducked his head, struggling to draw in a few deep breaths.

When he looked up at them, he took another step back. “I’m...sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to… Y-you shouldn’t have to...” He swallowed hard. “I have to go.”

The wanderer fled into the woods. No one moved to stop him. 

Dream had been an enigma to George since day one, always giving two more questions with every answer he gave; but as George stared at the spot where he lost sight of the wanderer between the trees, an unidentifiable tension squeezing his chest, he found himself with only one thing on his mind:  _ What is Dream so afraid of? _

George looked over to Fundy. He saw the scholar standing beside Skeppy, a hand pressed over his mouth and his eyes trained on the ground beneath his boots. “...I messed up,” he murmured eventually, “didn’t I?”

The captain turned around to look at them, an apology lingering in his eyes. “I don’t think anyone’s at fault. It was unexpected.”

“I should’ve stopped.” Fundy shook his head. “Fuck, I should have stopped…”

“But you didn’t,” said Bad, returning to the group to place a gentle hand on Fundy’s shoulder, “so these are the outcomes we have to deal with now. No use thinking about should haves and could haves.”

“What’re we going to do about Dream, though?” George asked, peering out into the woods in the vain hope he might catch a glimpse of that evergreen coat. “He’s run off,  _ by himself _ , in the middle of an Endomain. Someone has to go looking for him.”

Sapnap - who had finally gotten his hand off his axe - winced. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea. He doesn’t look like he’s the most... _ stable _ guy in the world right now.”

“We  _ do _ need to send someone to make sure he’s alright, though,” Skeppy agreed with George, tucking his thumbs into the sides of his belt and kicking at the river stones absentmindedly. “It’s not safe for him to be out there while he’s stuck in that kind of headspace. If something comes after him, I don’t think he’s gonna be able to protect himself.”

“We can wait a little while to let him cool off,” Bad decided. “Then we should send someone to go check on him.”

“Just one person,” Skeppy clarified, pointing at Bad for confirmation. “We don’t wanna overwhelm him, right?”

“Right.”

“I say George goes,” Fundy answered immediately.

George blinked and whipped his head to look at the scholar. “What? Why me?”

The scholar folded his arms and shrugged. “Well, let’s face it: you’re the one he’s most comfortable with.”

...What.

“ _ What _ ?”

“Dude, can you seriously not tell?” asked Skeppy, raising an eyebrow at him and giving a mildly amused smirk. “Like,  _ actually _ ?”

“N-no?”

“So you’ve never noticed that Dream will try to be next to you in pretty much any given situation.”

George shook his head, baffled. “He  _ does _ that?”

“Literally all the time,” Skeppy monotoned.

George thought back to the events of the past few days, turning over all his interactions with the group in his head, and...scarily enough, Skeppy was right. He could distinctly recall times where Dream had actively placed himself so he stood or sat beside George. “I...never noticed.”

“Oh my gods,” Sapnap grumbled, placing a heavy hand on his forehead, “George, you sweet,  _ oblivious _ dumbass. He’s practically glued to your side twenty-four-seven.”

“Language,” admonished Bad, “but, yeah, you muffin head. He’s comfortable with you - way more than he is with us, anyway.”

“But why  _ me _ ?” George asked them, pointing to himself with his hands. “Why not any of you guys?”

Skeppy shrugged and leaned his weight against Bad’s shoulder. “We don’t choose who we vibe with.”

George huffed out a confused laugh. This was ridiculous. “Who we  _ vibe  _ with?”

“Yeah,” Fundy agreed. “People who just  _ get it _ , you know?”

_ A ‘one-in-a-million’,  _ realized George.  _ Oh, that makes so much more sense. _ “...Yeah, I...think I do,” he replied after a moment’s consideration. “But - but what do I  _ do _ with this information?”

“Do you want to help Dream?” Bad asked.

George was caught off guard by the pointless question. “Well,  _ yeah _ , of course I want to help him.”

_ I want to be his friend,  _ he added, though nobody else could hear. And it was the truth. It was the conclusion that George had come to the previous night; it was the thought that had been lingering in the back of his head since. He’d almost said it aloud, almost let the notion - desperate to be spoken into reality - tumble past his lips.

Bad smiled in a way that made George wonder if the captain knew what he’d been thinking. “Then be there for him.”

  
  
  


_ ‘Be there for him’… How do I  _ **_be there_ ** _ for him?  _

It was something that George probably should have asked before he went off looking for Dream, though part of him doubted that Bad would’ve had an answer for him. George knew how to be there for his friends, whether that be through offering a hug, giving a reassuring pat on the arm, being a shoulder to cry on, lending an ear for nervous rambling, or simply existing near them. But George had known  _ them _ for years; George had known the wanderer for less than five days. What was he supposed to do?

George heaved a sigh. He swiftly registered the fact that he was worried and without a plan, so his mind was falling back onto the soldier in him, who wanted to tackle the problem systematically, run through all his options and their possible outcomes; but Dream was not a ‘problem’ to be tackled.

_ So quit thinking about him like he  _ **_is_ ** _ one,  _ George scolded himself, adjusting the crimson scarf draped around his neck.

George’s Screen buzzed.

  
  


**_CHATROOM_** _:_ _Shorter And Therefore Closer To Hell_

_ <Skeppy> hey u find him yet? _

  
  


George had forgotten that they were within range of the server towers again. He typed out a reply: 

  
  


_ <GeorgeNotFound> no _

_ <Skeppy> oh _

_ <Skeppy> ok _

_ <Skeppy> just wondering _

  
  


There was a pause in the messages. A few seconds later, Skeppy added:

  
  


_ <Skeppy> wanna give u a word of advice i guess _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> what is it? _

_ <Skeppy> so like i kno we dont rly talk about it but Bads got _

_ <Skeppy> uh _

_ <Skeppy> i dont wanna say “issues” bc that sounds kinda mean _

_ <Skeppy> but thats the only word i can think of rn _

_ <Skeppy> anyway ive known Bad since we were kids so ive figured out a couple things about ppl like Bad n Dream _

_ <Skeppy> idk /everything/ but i do kno panic attacks r nasty _

_ <Skeppy> especially the bad ones like the one Dream had _

_ <Skeppy> so like _

_ <Skeppy> idk just dont grill him on it _

_ <Skeppy> never turns out well _

_ <Skeppy> trust me _

  
  


There was a story there that George didn’t know. He didn’t think he was  _ supposed _ to know, so he didn’t ask.

  
  


_ <GeorgeNotFound> ok i won't _

_ <Skeppy> cool _

_ <Skeppy> i mean if he starts talking about it then thats fine _

_ <Skeppy> but like _

_ <Skeppy> dont interrogate him _

_ <Skeppy> itll piss him off _

_ <Skeppy> a lot _

_ <Skeppy> and then he wont wanna talk to you  _

  
  


Yep. Definitely a story there.

  
  


_ <Skeppy> aaaaanyway _

_ <Skeppy> message main if smthn happens _

_ <Skeppy> c ya _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> bye _

  
  


George turned off his Screen, and feeling maybe a  _ little _ more prepared than he had a minute before (maybe a little more baffled as well), he continued onward through the woods.

It really didn’t take him much time at all to find where Dream had scurried off to. He stopped walking when he found the wanderer seated on the side of a fallen oak facing a small glade. Both his hands still rested on the back of his neck, though George was relieved to find that he hadn’t maintained that bone-breaking grip. But, there was no denying the strain in the hunch of his back. His breathing, although far more even, was still a little shaky too, denoted by the occasional tremble in his chest when he inhaled.

Thinking of the incident last time they broke for lunch by a river, George was more careful to make his presence known by taking slightly louder footsteps earlier on in his approach, and instead of coming up from behind, he made sure to walk up to him at an angle. He knew he’d done something right when the wanderer’s head twitched in his direction. Other than that, Dream did nothing to acknowledge his presence.

In fact, Dream still didn’t look up when George came to stand a few paces to the wanderer’s left; he remained silent as George took a seat a respectful distance away a moment later. Meanwhile, George kept what Skeppy had told him in mind as the seconds turned to slow-ticking minutes. 

Just to give himself something to do, George took out his mother’s bow and began to wipe it down with the sleeve of his coat, if only to get some of the crustier grime off the glossy finish. It was such an old weapon, and he really wanted it to stay in working condition. He had been so careful to maintain it all these years for a reason. When they finally arrived in Golestiera, he was going to have to dedicate some serious time cleaning it up and readying it for their trip into the Nether - 

“So are we just going to sit here and ignore the elephant in the room, or are you going to ask me,” Dream said flatly. His words may have been sharp if it wasn’t for the hoarseness of his voice.

George glanced over to Dream, though for the most part, he kept his eyes on the Bow. “Ask you what?”

Dream huffed a bitter, weak scoff. “I dunno, maybe what the fuck my problem is? Why did I flip out on your friend? What the hell is wrong with me?”

“No,” George answered lightly. “I’m just sitting here looking after the Bow.”

“ _ Next  _ to me?”

“Next to you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Dream’s hands tug at the part of the scarf draped over the back of his neck.  _ (Better than clawing at his bare skin,  _ George thought distantly.) “You can do that over where the others are, you know.”

“Yeah, but I thought I’d keep you company.” 

Dream sighed, wrung his hands again, and finally turned to look at George. “I don’t know if you got the message, but I kinda want to be alone right now.” Again, harsh words bogged down by a weathered voice; he just sounded incredibly tired.

George shrugged. “Then ignore me. Pretend I don’t exist. See, look - ” He turned to sit cross legged on the log, his back to Dream - “I’m practically invisible.”

“I can still hear you.”

“I’ll shut up, then.”

And he did. Without another word, he went back to wiping down the Darkwood Bow with the sleeve of his coat. He’d already done what he could to clean it with what he had, but just sitting there felt awkward, so he continued the rhythmic up and down motion.

A couple minutes later, Dream spoked up. “... _ Your _ bow.”

George turned his head a little. “Huh?”

“ _ Your _ bow. You called it ‘the Bow’.”

“Well, yeah, ‘cause it’s ‘the Bow’. The Darkwood Bow, I mean.”

“But it’s yours, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s my mom’s. You heard the conversation I had with Tubbo before patrol last night, right?”

“But it’s yours now.”

“Mh, no, not really.” George spun around and held up the Darkwood Bow for Dream to see. He traced a finger down a spot on the riser and said, “It’s got her name etched onto it, and it was made specifically for her, so it’s  _ her _ bow.”

“But it’s been passed down to you,” Dream argued.

“Not exactly.” George set the weapon down in his lap and prepared himself to give the same old spiel he’d given dozens of times over the past eleven years. “When Mom died at the end of the War for the Fire Flats, she didn’t have a last will and testament written, so she never handed it down to me in person or legally. Wickan tradition states that an officer’s weapon be given to their spouse or their parents upon their death, but my dad passed away when I was young, and my mom never remarried. My grandparents - her parents - aren’t around anymore either. So, the bow was just going to end up on display in the town hall as a memorial. But, the general, an old friend of my mom’s, put his foot down and fought for me to stay in possession of the Darkwood Bow, and the council eventually agreed.

“But here’s the thing: legally speaking, I don’t own this bow. Plus, this is a  _ lieutenant’s _ weapon, and I’m not even a captain yet. So, as far as anyone’s concerned, the Darkwood Bow doesn’t belong to me. I’m just…” George made a vague gesture with his hand. “... _ borrowing _ it, or something.”

Dream stared at him for a long time, expression unreadable behind the pale grin. Then after what seemed to be careful consideration, he spoke: “Not gonna lie, George, that...sounds like a load of bullshit.”

George sputtered. “Wh-what?”

“Oh, come on,” the wanderer laughed airily, “don’t act like you don’t know. Did you see yourself when you went against the bandits yesterday? Or that shot you landed earlier today from almost fifty meters away, through heavy woodlands, and with a  _ weighted _ arrow? Because holy  _ fuck _ George, you’ve got to be the best archer I’ve ever seen and  _ I’ve _ been to the four corners of Othana, so  _ I _ know what I’m talking about.”

He paused, removing a hand from the back of his scarf to run his fingers through his hair beneath his hood. “I didn’t want to weird you out before, so I never brought it up, but I knew who you were the moment I met you.”

George blinked at him. “You did?”

“Course I did,” Dream answered as if it were obvious, straightening out so he no longer hunched over his knees. “Like, a guy who’s a quick shot with a bow, wears white forge goggles on his head, and goes by George? Well, it’s gotta be ‘George Darkwood, prodigy archer and competitive monster hunter’. People know you all over Northern Othana and even beyond, and it’s not just ‘cause of your mom.”

Dream jerked his chin at the weapon that rested in George’s lap. “I don’t care what the technicalities say. I’ve known you for less than a week, and I can already tell you deserve ownership of that bow. You use it like it was made for you.”

George picked up the weapon, traced the depiction of vines, leaves, and blooms with his eyes. His gaze caught on that specific spot on the riser, and the title stared him down.

**ELEANOR DARKWOOD**

He considered it for a moment, then gently slid his thumb over her name.

**DARKWOOD**

“Never really thought about it like that, to be honest,” he admitted at last.

“Well, you should,” the wanderer told him, folding his arms.

George chuckled to himself and gave Dream a funny look. “You know, I came out here to comfort you, and then you went ahead and flipped the script on me.”

Dream’s lips quirked into something resembling a smile. “I guess I’m just unpredictable like that.”

“‘Unpredictable’?” George laughed. “Is that another word we’re adding to the list?”

“The list?” he echoed, confused. Though, he quickly recalled their joke and cocked his head to the side curiously. “I wasn’t aware I was allowed to add words.”

“Well, I mean, it’s technically  _ your _ list, so I guess you can add stuff.”

Dream’s grin stretched wider. “Great, so I’m going to be making some additions - ”

“Oh Gods - ” said George, realizing his mistake.

“ - which will include - ”

“ - I can see where this is going - ”

“ - but is not limited to - ”

“ -  _ here _ we go - ”

Dream started to count on his fingers. “...Talented.”

“Off to a good start.”

“Strong.”

“Of course.”

“Intelligent - ”

George snorted.

Dream pointed an accusing finger. “I take offense to that.” He went back to listing. “Charismatic, wise, ingenious…” He leaned forward with a cheeky smile. “...Handsome?”

George gave Dream his best ‘utterly unimpressed’ look and tilted his hand side to side. “Ehhh…”

Dream’s mouth dropped open, shocked. “Oh come on, at  _ least  _ give me that.”

“You’re not exactly my type.”

“What’s your type?”

“Well,  _ female _ , first of all.”

Dream nodded reluctantly. “Alright, that’s fair, I’ll allow it.”

“Besides,” George continued, “it’s not like I’ve got much to go off of. I can only see the lower half of your face.”

“Well,  that isn’t changing anytime soon, so  _ this _ \- ” he gestured to his half-hidden complexion - “is all you get.”

“How unfortunate,” George deadpanned.

Dream let his hand drop. “You are stone cold, George.”

George gave him a shit-eating grin. “I know.”

Dream let out a small, wheezing laugh and ducked his head. He took in a deep breath and released it heavily, shoulders rising and falling with the motion. Even when the laughter had faded away, his grin lingered.

A moment of comfortable silence passed, and George was content to spend it staring out at the glade. It was nice to see a gap in the trees that wasn’t just dust and ruin. The grass was tall and lush here, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze. Though some of the trees still had chunks taken out of them, and a few random potholes marred the ground, there was life thrumming through these woods. Birdsong drifted to his ears; he spotted a deer poke its head into the clearing once or twice. The colors of autumn burned warm on the trees despite the small bite of chill in the air.

George took in a breath of that heady, earthy scent. He would admit that it was nice out here. In a way, he could see the appeal of traveling through the wilds of Othana for months on end, familiarizing himself with every little dell and pond and creek and field. When he was young, he may have dreamed of being an adventurer, exploring uncharted lands and slaying monsters along the way; but those sky-crawling mountains to the north never really called to him, and the rolling plains to the south did not beckon. His home was in Northwick, and it always would be.

George looked over to find that Dream was staring out into the glade as well. The wanderer appeared to be entirely lost in thought as he rubbed the fabric of the front of his patchwork scarf between his fingers, head tilted a little to the side. The branches overhead cast shadowy imprints of leaves over his evergreen coat, and sunlight was dusted over the pale grin that hid him away from prying eyes. He was still save for the unhurried rise and fall of his chest.

George decided that calm was a good look on the wanderer.

...George’s reverie was broken when his Screen vibrated. Pulling his eyes away from the glade, he shifted his arm into his lap and tapped at the device.

**_CHATROOM_ ** _ : Yes Cap’n _

_ <BadBoyHalo> have you found him yet? _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> yeah i did a little while ago _

_ <BadBoyHalo> how is he? _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> was a little tense when i first got here _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> he’s fine now _

_ <BadBoyHalo> good to hear ^-^ _

_ <BadBoyHalo> did he talk at all? _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> yeah _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> didn’t say anything bout what happened tho _

_ <BadBoyHalo> that’s fine _

_ <BadBoyHalo> we can try talking to him about it later _

_ <BadBoyHalo> if he’s willing _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> i doubt he will tbh _

_ <BadBoyHalo> me too _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> how’re the others? _

_ <BadBoyHalo> fine _

_ <BadBoyHalo> Fundy still feels kinda bad about what happened _

_ <BadBoyHalo> he was upset about the “promise” or whatever it was but he says that he didn’t mean to send Dream into a full-on breakdown over it _

_ <BadBoyHalo> Skeppy hasn’t really said much, he’s just worried _

_ <BadBoyHalo> Sapnap’s been a little on edge about you being out there with Dream by yourself _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> why’s that? _

_ <BadBoyHalo> idk, something about Dream not being stable _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> he was literally one of the ones to suggest i come out here _

_ <BadBoyHalo> doesn't mean he’s not worried bout it  _

  
  


George looked up from his Screen. Dream was pressing his scarf over his mouth now, head angled downward to stare at his boots. There was contentment radiating from his posture.

  
  


_ <GeorgeNotFound> well tell him not to be worried _

_ <BadBoyHalo> /Sapnap/, George, /Sapnap/ _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> i see your point _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> what about you? _

_ <BadBoyHalo> i’m fine  _

_ <BadBoyHalo> just wish i could’ve done more _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> i don’t think he was gonna /let/ you do more so _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> no loss, i guess _

_ <BadBoyHalo> hm _

_ <BadBoyHalo> weird question _

_ <BadBoyHalo> has he touched you at all? Or have you touched him? _

  
  


George furrowed his brows at that. Yeah, a weird question  _ indeed _ .

  
  


_ <GeorgeNotFound> no? We’ve just been kinda sitting here _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> why do you ask? _

_ <BadBoyHalo> idk, just had a thought _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> you gonna share with the class? _

_ <BadBoyHalo> maybe  _

_ <BadBoyHalo> i'm still thinking about it _

_ <BadBoyHalo> anyway, i was wondering if you think he’s ready to come back _

_ <BadBoyHalo> i don’t wanna make him uncomfortable, but we really gotta get on the road _

_ <BadBoyHalo> we’ve got a lot of ground to cover still _

_ <BadBoyHalo> so? _

  
  


George turned away from his Screen again. This time, when he looked over to Dream, the wanderer had his head angled down at George’s lap, the dark holes in the mask eyeing the device sitting on his arm. Slowly, his head tilted upward, and he gave a small nod.

  
  


_ <GeorgeNotFound> he’s cool with it _

_ <BadBoyHalo> oh good _

_ <BadBoyHalo> see ya in a few? _

_ <GeorgeNotFound> yeah, see ya _

  
  


George powered down his Screen. He slung the Darkwood Bow back onto his back and stood, stretching out his arms with a soft grunt, satisfied with the way the tension melted from his shoulder blades at the motion. He looked over to Dream to find that the wanderer, soundlessly, had stood as well. His arms were still folded, though he gripped his upper arms with a little more force than was necessary.

George considered the unease building in the wanderer. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Dream exhaled. He fell into step beside George, and together, they started on their way back to the group.

They didn’t talk. George was fine with that. He was fine to just walk and let Dream brace himself for his return. Although, George felt as though he should’ve said something when he glanced to the side and spotted Dream picking at his fingernails, a bitter frown marring his lips as he scraped away the traces of rusty red…

Dream tilted his head at George, noticed the archer staring; he adjusted his scarf so it rested a little higher on the back of his neck. “I don’t… I’m not…” Dream paused to search for the right words. Eventually, he picked at his nails pointedly and said, “ _ This _ was an accident, in case you’re wondering.”

George couldn’t deny the wave of relief that washed over him at the reassurance. “Oh. That’s…good.”

Dream nodded numbly and tucked his hand back into the crook of his arm.

They carried on for another thirty seconds before George said, without really meaning to, “So I’ve got to ask...” When Dream offered no form of resistance or denial, he continued, “What happened back there? Why can’t we know about the Brand?”

Dream inhaled, held his breath deliberately, and let the air out slowly. “It’s...a lot. There’s some things about it that you shouldn’t have to know...things about me and how...” He didn’t finish that last though. Instead, he adjusted his mask. “It’s just personal, is all.”

_ Really personal,  _ George added mentally, recalling the sheer anger and unadulterated fear the wanderer had exhibited. George didn’t think he’d ever seen Dream so distressed. 

“I didn’t mean for things to escalate as much as they did.” The wanderer reached under his mask and rubbed the side of his face, exhaustion exuding from the motion. “But then Fundy started talking. I freaked out, and I’m...not always the best at staying level headed when I do.” 

George processed this as he stared down at the leaves he crunched under his boots, nodding quietly just to let Dream know he was listening. After a beat of silence, he posed the question: “Are you alright?”

Simple phrasing - they both knew what he meant by it.

And Dream gave no reply save for an inscrutable tilt of his head.

At last, they came to the little babbling creek. Everyone had packed up their things, and the horses stood at the ready to set out at a moment’s notice. The rest of the group was standing in a half-circle huddle, their backs to George and Dream as the pair returned.

Uncertain of what to do, George awkwardly cleared his throat to get their attention. The four of them turned their heads around, each expression betraying varying levels of uncertainty. There was a suspense in the air that made breathing slightly more difficult. George saw Dream lift his hand as if he was going to rest it on the back of his neck, reconsidered halfway through, and curled his fingers around the loop in his scarf instead. The pale grin’s gaze was steadily trained on one man in particular, though that unforgiving smile offered no insight as to what its host was thinking.

Skeppy was the one to break the stagnancy first, giving Fundy a gentle nudge on the arm with his elbow and nodding at him encouragingly. The scholar’s shoulders hiked up for a second before he let them drop, squaring them. Chin tilted upward, he stepped away from the group and began to approach the wanderer.

To George’s surprise, Dream advanced to meet him halfway.

When they came to a standstill in the intersection of the two groups, Fundy offered Dream a hand. “I’d like to apologize for what I did earlier,” said the scholar. The professionalism in his voice felt out of place, and George knew from that fact alone that Fundy was incredibly nervous. “It wasn’t my intention to cause any harm. If I had known that speaking of the Brand would pull that sort of reaction from you, I  _ never _ would have said anything.”

Dream considered the offering for a few long seconds, mask tilted downward. Then, he carefully grasped the scholar’s hand. “I didn’t mean to attack you,” was all he managed.

Fundy nodded slowly, gave Dream’s hand a gentle shake, and released him. The wanderer took a small step back, head tilted away as he looked at anything and everything but the group.

George realized, as he and Dream joined the others by the horses, that the apologies were palliative at best. There was a strain in the group now, a whole array of unanswered questions and mounting apprehension remaining unspoken but existing as borders between them nonetheless; and by the tight frown pulling Dream’s mouth shut, George knew that they wouldn’t get their answers anytime soon. Though it wasn’t preferable, he could live with that - if not for his sake, then for Dream’s. His  _ main concern _ was if his friends could as well.

Regardless, they set out with Dream as their guide once again, horses plodding along the leaf-littered paths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, just gotta love that angst. There's not much I have to say about this chapter other than I hope I was able to make the scenes flow well and I hope I've left you with more questions than answers :) I'm just mean like that. Oh, and it is now canon that George likes to cuddle with the homies (namely Sapnap). Just,,,plot,,,I'm begging you,,,let the poor guy have a nap already.
> 
> Next week will be the last chapter of the Part Four: Heart of the Endomain, so get ready for that I guess.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for all the support as usual. See ya'll next week! :D


	16. Steady Hand, Heavy Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy 100k words lets goooo!! To everyone who's been here for the ride, the support has been mind-blowing and your kind words get me up and writing every day. So, a very heartfelt thank you to all of you! Hope you enjoy the chapter!!

It was just past three in the afternoon, and George was stifling yawns. What had the world come to? 

At least some of the stress within the group had dissipated to a tolerable level. After Fundy and Dream seemingly made up, nothing more was said about the matter. There was no talk of the Brand, nor Dream’s outburst, breakdown, and subsequent retreat, not that George expected anyone to try to bring it up again. Half an hour later, and George’s expectations were still upheld. Something resembling normalcy had made an uncertain but undeniable return, once more by Bad’s gentle guidance. George was starting to notice a pattern, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good one.

Though that wasn’t the most pertinent concern of his at the moment. Bottom line: George was tired, and that was a problem. Why was it a problem? Well, it was getting awfully difficult to keep his eyes open and his head upright.

Without meaning to, George found his chin ducking down, which got the rest of him to tip forward and bonk his forehead right between Dream’s shoulder blades. Instantly, he jerked upward with a sharp intake of breath, blinking owlishly.

“Tired much?” Fundy remarked, riding up beside them.

“Maybe,” George mumbled in reply.

Dream gave a small, confused laugh. “Yeah, you alright back there, George?”

George sighed, letting go of the reins with one hand briefly to rub at his eyes. “No,” he finally admitted. “Kind of exhausted, if I’m being honest. Haven’t really been getting much sleep.”

“You can ride with me or Fundy if you want to rest for a while,” Sapnap offered, nodding to the available back saddles.

George shook his head and set his shoulders. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay. Besides, the terrain is still pretty tricky to navigate. Someone’s got to steer.”

“I could do it,” said Dream.

“Forgive me if I’m a little reluctant after  _ last _ time,” George joked, earning him another chuckle from the wanderer.

“Last night was loooong,” Skeppy bemoaned, planting the side of his head on the back of Bad’s shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. “Can we agree to stay out of tiny settlements for the rest of the trip? Those patrol shifts  _ sucked _ .”

“They’ve certainly got a situation,” said Bad, nodding thoughtfully. “Everyone there seems very dedicated, though. Especially that woman, Niki. A full night of patrol must have been rough.”

“We saw Wilbur out there during our shift, too,” Skeppy added. “They’re definitely stretched thin.”

“Fundy was talking to Tubbo about getting some sort of connection going between Northwick and Juno Settlement,” said Sapnap, riding a little further up in the pack. “We  _ are _ their closest significant neighbors, after all. We should do what we can to help them get back on their feet.”

“I’m sure the council would be open to suggestions,” Bad replied. “When the Dragon is finally dead and things go back to normal, Othana’s going to have to rebuild. Hopefully we can all do it together so no more cities get abandoned if disaster strikes again.”

“To be quite honest,” said Fundy, “I think that was our downfall. When the Aggression first broke out, everyone just kind of...went dark. Or went up in flames.”

“Every man for himself?” George suggested.

“Exactly.”

“Strength in numbers,” sighed Bad, shaking his head.

“A hard learned lesson.”

“Masks on,” said Dream.

“Wh - ?”

“Masks. On.”

The intensity of his voice alone was enough to get all of them to halt their horses and pull their masks down over their faces. George tugged on his goggles and craned his neck to peek further over Dream’s shoulder.

The group had just rounded a bend in their path, and standing about fifty meters dead ahead were three endermen. They loitered in the middle of the narrow trail, spined backs hunched with the weight of their massive hands, claws lightly scratching the ground. The creatures seemed to be in the middle of the enderman equivalent of a conversation, as George could distantly hear their unusual distorted grunts and saw them twitching their heads at each other in a contemplative manner.

And here was the group, literally smack in the center of their potential line of sight. Any sudden movements on their part could easily catch the monsters’ attention. And they couldn’t just lay down in the dirt like they had in the dead end. They were far too noticeable in the middle of the path, unable to blend in like they had been able to with the backdrop of the trees surrounding the clearing. George started to consider their other options. He thought of the dagger on his belt, the Bow on his back, and the water in his canteen. But the dagger wouldn’t do much against enderman hide, he questioned the ability of his arrows to bog them down, and the opening of his canteen was probably too thin to splash very much water at all - 

“Okay guys,” Bad said, voice low and cautious, “this is what we’re going to do. Starting with Sapnap, we are going to dismount one horse at a time and  _ very slowly _ make our way over to the right of the path and duck into the little dip in the bushes and trees. Everyone see what I’m talking about? Give a small nod if you do.”

George was careful not to turn his head, instead glancing at the objective out of the corner of his eye. One by one, they all gave Bad a careful nod.

“Good. Sapnap, lead the way. Fundy, I want you right behind him.”

Sapnap wasn’t quick to respond, though it was for good reason. His movements were fluid and well placed as he swung his leg over the back of his horse and dismounted. Once his feet had touched the ground, George saw Fundy slide out of his saddle with equal wariness. Walking behind the horses, they made their way over to the dip in the side of the trail. There was no reaction from the endermen, who continued to chatter down the path.

Even with only two people from the group dismounted, George could see Bad’s strategy. Sapnap and Fundy had been the furthest left in the group, putting them farthest from their hiding place. By getting them to move to the hiding place first - and should the situation call for it - it would be easier for the rest of them to make a hasty jump for cover. Following such a pattern, that would put Skeppy and Bad as next to move.

Sure enough, Bad gave a subtle signal to Skeppy, who seemed to understand immediately. He dismounted first, followed by Bad, and started to make their way over as well.

Dream had been impressively still during the whole procedure. George hadn’t seen or felt a single twitch out of him since the horses were stopped…

...This proved to be a good thing, as just as Skeppy and Bad were ducking into the bushes, one of the endermen turned and looked  _ directly _ at Dream and George. The creature cocked its head at them in an almost catlike manner, curious. 

Then, it teleported ten meters closer in a flash of slickly purple magic.

Dream visibly flinched, and George felt his heart skip a beat. This was  _ not _ good in the slightest.

George racked his brain, trying to remember everything he could about endermen behavioral patterns that he’d been forced to study up on for the past several months. He quickly recalled what he needed to know. “Dream,” he breathed, “in a second, that enderman is going to signal to the others. The moment its head is turned, we need to  _ move _ . Understand?”

Dream gave no reply, though it wasn’t wise to nod with the enderman staring them down, and George was already taking a massive risk in whispering to him. He trusted Dream understood. The wanderer had dealt with endermen before and clearly knew what he was doing, if his actions back in the Endomain’s heart were anything to go by.

Out of the corner of his eye, George could see Bad signaling for them to move, though George didn’t dare signal back. The enderman was still considering them. Maybe, if they held still enough, it might lose interest. All they had to do now was wait it out and then…

The enderman took a few lumbering steps forward and cocked its head at the two of them again. Then, it turned and emitted a low, unnatural growl.

_ Here’s our chance. _ George practically leapt from the saddle, and when Dream didn’t immediately move, he grabbed the wanderer’s wrist and tugged. Dream seemed to get the message and hurried to dismount, landing ungracefully to the right of the horse. His boots hit the dirt with a silence-shattering  _ thump! _

When George saw the nearest enderman perk up and begin to turn around, he didn’t think. He just threw an arm around Dream’s middle and tackled him down into the bushes, diving out of sight of the monster.

George and Dream crashed into the foliage below in a tangle of arms and legs. Upon landing, George separated himself from the mess and pressed himself against the base of a tree, tucking his knees up to his chest as to obscure more of himself from view of the trail. He then grabbed Dream by the back of his hood and hauled the wanderer over to his side. Without needing any further encouragement, Dream copied George’s stance, legs tucked and hood pulled so low that only the eyes of his mask were peeking out over the tops of his knees.

George surveyed the rest of the group. Laying flat on their stomachs beneath a thick bush were Sapnap and Fundy. They were furthest from the road, mud from the drizzle-softened earth splattered up onto their cheeks and their shields held above their heads. Across from George were Skeppy and Bad, who had taken a similar position to himself and Dream. One of Bad’s muck-splattered hands reached over his head to grip at the hilt of his sword. Skeppy had his shield on one arm while in the hand of the other he clutched a small firework flare and an unactivated redstone torch. It would have to be a last ditch effort to distract the endermen if they needed to make a quick getaway. Something so loud and destructive held the potential for so many disasters in heavy woodlands. George desperately held onto the knowledge that Skeppy wasn’t as trigger happy as they joked.

The seconds dragged on, and George scarcely breathed. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He shouldn’t have dove into the bushes like that, he made  _ so much noise _ . He liked to think that he could stay level-headed in high-stress situations - he had to if he wanted to continue being a guard - but all he had seen was that monster turning around to catch the both of them in its unforgiving glare, and he just... _ had to escape _ . And now he might’ve compromised the entire group,  _ fucking hell _ \- 

No, stop: he had to focus. He was going to need to defend himself. What could he use? His shield? Yes, his shield - no. He had lost it during the encounter with the bandits back in Pillager’s Barrow. What else, then? He thought to grab his canteen and pull the lid off, just to have  _ something _ at the ready that he knew could be even marginally effective -

At the same time George realized his canteen had come unclipped during the fall, an enderman popped into existence right between himself and Bad. 

It was difficult to gage the others’ reactions with their own masks covering their faces, but he definitely heard Dream swallow a gasp behind a clenched jaw. George’s heartbeat roared in his ears as the enderman curiously explored the little patch of woodlands the group was hiding in. The other monsters had come to investigate the horses left behind on the road. Just like they had in the heart of the Endomain, the steeds were deathly still, the whites of their eyes visible even from so far away.

George never had the misfortune of being so close to an enderman before. Even when he and Techno had taken care of that dawn drifter in the middle of the street just a few days before, he had been sure to keep his distance. Now, those tree branch legs were standing less than a meter from his own, and the miasma of malevolent magic crept towards his feet and caressed the leather of his boots. The creature spun in a slow, jerking circle, serrated claws picking at the grass and dirt. George monitored the monster’s movements in his peripheral out of instinct alone. He watched as its piercing gaze wandered over Bad and Skeppy, skittered past Fundy and Sapnap, and finally landed on George and Dream…

...and stayed there.

Shifting a hand over his mouth and nose to stifle the sound of his rapid breathing, George resolutely kept his eyes trained on the creature’s feet, even as he could  _ feel _ the enderman leaning in, closer, closer, closer. Its claws dug into the earth as it pressed itself towards them. A low, distorted growl that George felt in his very marrow reverberated through the enderman’s chest, dominating the thundering of George’s own galloping heartbeat - 

_ Sizzling. _ There was a low, distorted growl, and there was  _ sizzling _ .

George’s gaze shifted. He looked at the claws buried in the ground. Little, inconsequential tendrils of purplish, greyish smoke drifted up from those massive, scarred hands.

_ Soft earth, mud on Sapnap’s face, mud on Fundy’s face, mud on Bad’s hands, wet grass, slightly boiling enderman hide... _ **_water_ ** _. _

It took George less than a second to identify a shallow puddle of murky water - probably left over from a midnight drizzle - within reaching distance.

As slowly as he could, but as quickly as he dared, George extended his arm and  _ pressed _ his hand in the shallow puddle, submerging it up to the wrist. There wasn’t nearly enough water to scoop a substantial amount of the liquid, but the mud at the bottom of the puddle was soft and runny and it clung to his skin. He was careful to not make too much sound when he drew his hand out. He knew he had gotten the enderman’s attention, as the creature had shifted its head from peering curiously at Dream to staring suspiciously at George. The growling spiked in volume; the creature leaned towards him. 

George held his breath, shifted his feet ever so slightly, licked his lips and ignored the trickle of cold sweat down the back of his neck. 

_ Don’t back down don’t back down don’t back down don’t back down… _

He waited…

Waited…

The enderman gave a violent jerk forward as it suddenly deemed George hostile, jaw coming unhinged in a spine-crawling crack. The moment it moved, George leapt to his feet and slammed the flat of his wet, muddied hand right in the middle of its anorexic ribs. The enderman screeched, tinted smoke poured out from beneath George’s hand, and  _ holy fucking Gods _ it was as though he’d grabbed the wrong end of a lit torch. He felt the hide bubbling and boiling against his open palm, searing the skin. He might’ve screamed, but whatever sound he made was completely swallowed by the enderman’s own deafening cry of anguish. His legs buckled at the pain and the noise, and he just barely got himself to shift his weight forward and onto his knees before he ended up falling flat on his back.

His hand had only been on the creature’s chest for a couple seconds, but a couple seconds were long enough to scare it. Its unholy, ear-shattering shriek startled its companions so that when the injured enderman vanished from the scene in a flash of purple light and murky smoke, the others weren’t too far behind.

George, meanwhile, remained kneeling in the grass, vision blurring and ears ringing and heart pounding and hand  _ burning burning burning _ . He clutched his wrist and hissed meaningless curses between his teeth. As his spotty vision began to clear, he saw how his hand was now coated in a black, warped sludge from the tips of his fingers down to the base of his palm. It mixed with the scalded skin, mud, and blood to make a putrid quagmire of gore. And God, the  _ smell _ . He almost wanted to puke.

_ Maybe there’s a reason we don’t touch boiling endermen… _ supplied his hazy, pain-addled mind.

“ - GEORGE!” 

Oh shit, someone was calling his name. He was jostled by...when had those hands appeared on his shoulders? 

“George, come on, say something, you’re freaking me out!”

George blinked, trying to gather his thoughts. Right, focus. Pull his mind off the pain, put it somewhere else -

“What’s going on, what’s - ?! Oh no…”

\- he was a guard for a reason, he could handle this. He just needed a focal point -

“Shit, dude, his  _ hand _ \- ” 

His friends.

George forced himself to draw in a deep, shuddering breath and lift his head. Vision swimming with the movement, he saw Sapnap crouching in front of him, his hands planted firmly on George’s shoulders and supporting the brunt of his weight. Bad and Skeppy stood beside the smith, looking down. All of their masks had been pushed up, allowing George to take in their horrified expressions.

Relief flickered across the Sapnap’s face. “George, can you hear me? Are you with us?”

George blinked.  _ Oh, right, words. _ He straightened himself out as much as he could and managed, “I-I’m with you.”

“Great, now let me  _ through _ ,” Fundy growled from the side as he pushed Sapnap back, who barked out an objection that Fundy swiftly ignored. There was an urgency in the scholar’s eyes as he snatched up George’s blackened hand by the wrist, causing a spike of pain that nearly sent George spiraling out of reality again. 

Fundy’s breath came out in a rush, and he said, voice dripping with something between fury and anxiety, “George, you moron, you complete and utter dumbass, what the  _ fuck  _ were you thinking?”

“Th-that my face was about to be eaten off!” George sputtered in reply, confused by Fundy’s anger (while also terrified of his fear and what it meant). “I was out of options!” 

“Fundy, what’s on his hand?” Sapnap demanded, shoving back into view.

“Liquified enderman hide,” Fundy replied grimly, “but it won’t be liquid for much longer. Bad, I need you to go get a metal curry comb. Skeppy, go grab my potions bag.”

Without asking any further questions, the pair hurried up to the spooked horses to calm them and get what Fundy had requested.

The scholar continued: “Sapnap, I want you to sit down beside him and support his back and shoulders, alright? Make sure you can take his weight.” 

“Why?” Sapnap asked, though he did as Fundy requested, seating himself beside George and pulling him into his side.

“You’ll see in a second, and I promise I will explain later. We have mere  _ minutes _ before this goes from manageable to  _ not _ .”

“We have the stuff,” Skeppy announced as he and Bad swiftly returned, kneeling down on either side of Fundy.

“Good. Bad, support his arm. George, relax your hand, don’t move it. Skeppy, my bag - ”

The satchel was passed to the scholar. Even without looking, he spent no more than a second rummaging through its contents, swiftly producing a small vial about three inches tall. It contained a concoction of a foreboding grey shade.

He popped the cork off with his thumb and held it out to George. “Take a deep breath and down this in one go.”

George stared, mind reeling. “Wh-what’s - ?”

“Don’t ask questions, just take it!”

At the strain in Fundy’s voice, George reached forward, grabbed the vial, and put it to his lips before he could really take a moment to consider what exactly he was drinking. He squeezed his eyes shut and, reminding himself of his trust in Fundy, knocked it back, ignoring the sour flavor and slimy consistency.

It slid down his throat and all coherent thoughts vanished and his head weighed a thousand pounds and the ground beneath him swayed  _ what  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The next several minutes...happened. Was George there for it? Not in every sense of the word. Under a heavy blanket of darkness, he caught bits and pieces of his surroundings, hazy flashes of reality. He couldn’t tell you what occurred during those few minutes, not by drawing on memory alone. All he knew was that he took that potion, time passed, and he came to with his head spinning like a top and his vision  _ tripling _ . He blinked hard in an attempt to get his eyes to cooperate.

Once he was able to get the swirl of colors and shapes to settle, he made out the figures of Fundy and Skeppy kneeling above him and to his right. Fundy’s face was set firm in concentration, but that clawing fear no longer marred his expression, and Skeppy stood by with spare bandages and a potion of healing in hand. George became aware of a warm, gentle weight cradling the back of his head and pressing down on his left shoulder.

And George himself felt...light. Airy. Like a breeze might carry him off.

At some point during the past several minutes, someone had pushed his forge goggles up, so when he blinked back to awareness, Skeppy was quick to notice. His voice was a little warbly in George’s ears, but he was able to make it out: “Oh, look, he’s waking up.”

The hand on his shoulder - familiar to him now - squeezed him softly. “Welcome back, man,” murmured Sapnap, just out of view. All George could focus on were the trees overhead, watching the branches bend and swirl and meld together - 

George squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “Fun’y wh’ th’ hell di’ya give me?” Gods, were those even words? His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

“A  _ very _ potent potion of weakness,” Fundy replied from...somewhere. His voice echoed in George’s head, fading as that heavy darkness made a brief return, only to relent once more: “ - a few minutes for the worst of the effects to wear off, so just hang tight. If you fall asleep again, that’s fine. I doubt you’ll be out for - ”

  
  
  
  
  
  


“ - gonna cause an infection?”

“No, it’s been cleaned, and the health pot will - ”

  
  
  
  
  
  


“ - horses?”

“Dunno. Seems like Dream and Bad have calmed them down.”

“I wonder how Dr - ”

  
  
  
  
  
  


The second time George came around, his vision was a lot quicker to focus, and the swirling was nearly nonexistent. He could recall snippets of conversation, and just by following that, he could tell that not much time had passed at all. Needless to say, he felt far less disoriented than the first time he’d woken up.

“Aaaaaaand he’s back again,” said Sapnap. His head leaned into view, raven bangs and the ties of his bandana drooping down towards George’s face. There was a smirk on his lips, but George could see his concern in the furrow of his brow. “How you feelin’?”

George brought his available hand up and rubbed his eyes with a long exhale of breath. “The world has mostly stopped spinning, so I’d count that as a win.” He dropped his hand to his chest. “How long have I been out for?”

“It’s been about...I’d say twenty minutes since you drank the potion.”

“Right, the potion.” George turned his head slightly to catch Fundy’s eye, and he narrowed his eyes at the scholar. “Maybe give a guy a  _ little _ bit of a heads up next time you give him something that’s gonna knock him the fuck out?”

“Sorry,” Fundy winced, “we were pressed for time, and I didn’t think it would be wise to waste precious moments explaining everything. I’m not being sarcastic,” he added with a firm look. “I’m dead serious.”

George looked to the side to observe his hand for the first time since he regained consciousness. His arm was laid out on the grass while Fundy wound his injury in bandages. Skeppy was helping by carefully pouring drops of potions of health on the cheap fabric to be applied directly to the wound. Sitting by their knees were a few spare cloths and a metal curry comb - all of which were dirtied by that sickening, blackened sludge.

Fundy saw where George’s eyes were. “Trust me, you didn’t want to be awake for that.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“You were an idiot,” Fundy said flatly. “I mean, your quick-thinking is commendable and your ignorance is excusable, but I know for a  _ fact _ that you have been told to never touch an enderman when its hide is boiling.” He gestured to George’s ruined hand. “ _ This _ is why. The hide liquifies and sticks itself to any organic matter. Then, the hide begins to cool and harden, and once a few minutes have passed, it returns to its original thickness and almost its original strength. By that point, the only way to remove it would be to quickly boil the hide again, which can completely destroy muscles, tendons, and even bones in the process. To recover from that, you would need something stronger than a simple health pot. A regeneration potion would do the trick, but we don’t have access to any of those and probably won't for a very long time.

“So, we had to remove all of the liquified hide by any means necessary as quickly as possible. And we did. So here we are.”

“What would happen if you left it?” Skeppy asked as he passed the last of the potion-doused bandages to Fundy. “I mean, if your hand is covered in enderman hide wouldn’t that be like, I dunno, a really strong hand? Like, endermen are really tough ‘cause of their hides, so wouldn’t having an ‘ender-hand’ be an advantage?”

Fundy shook his head. “Enderman hide is stiff, so it would take awhile for the person in question to get used to the lack of flexibility, not to mention that the overall recovery process is taxing on the muscles and might even leave the area prone to infection. That’s why we needed to act fast. George wouldn’t be able to properly hold a weapon - or... _ anything _ , for that matter - for a very long time.”

“So what now?” George asked, eyeing his bloodied, bandaged hand. “How long is it going to take for it to heal?”

“With fresh bandages and consistent doses of health potions, you should be mostly healed by the time we get to Golestiera. The healing process is going to start off a little slower than it usually would with this amount of health pots since you still have a weakness potion running through your system. I’d give you an antidote for it, but it’s currently the reason you’re not in excruciating pain right now.”

George took half a second to process that, quickly realizing that, yes, his hand was torn up, but he  _ hardly _ felt it. Everything was muted. He was only becoming aware of the dull ache in his hand and the pressure from the bandages now because it had been pointed out to him. He wondered how long that would last.

“By the time the weakness potion completely wears off, the health pot should have done enough healing so that the pain is…” Fundy tilted his hand side to side in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “...tolerable, let’s say.”

George grimaced. “Sounds like fun.”

Fundy finished winding up the bandages a moment later, quickly drawing a few Galactic runes on the inside of George’s arm. Then, while he and Skeppy went to use their canteens’ water to wash the blood off their hands, Sapnap helped get George to his feet. George was having a pretty awful time supporting his own weight, arms shaking and knees weak.  _ That’s probably why they call it a ‘ _ **_weakness_ ** _ potion’, _ his brain supplied oh-so-helpfully. He ended up leaning on Sapnap as the four of them trudged up the slope to meet the pair handling the horses back on the main trail.

The horses, it would seem, had been quelled for now. Dream stood beside his and George’s stallion, gripping the reins in a hand while he talked to Bad. Something was off about their interaction, though. Dream’s body was closed off, giving him a similar posture to that ‘cornered animal’ look he’d assumed during the incident earlier that day (though not nearly as distressed). Not only that, but his available hand hung on the back of his neck - Dream’s go-to stance when uncomfortable.

“ - appreciate your concern, but I’d really rather not talk about it,” Dream was murmuring to Bad through a twisted grimace, “not right now, anyway. I-I’m still…” He took a shuddering breath. “...processing, I guess.”

“Right, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - ” Bad caught sight of the four of them coming up to the road, and he immediately redirected his attention. “Oh, you’re awake again! How’re you feeling, George?”

“Tired,” George answered truthfully. “Suffice to say that I never want to do that ever again for as long as I live.”

“H-How’s, uh, how’s your hand?” Dream stammered out; the grip on the back of his neck shifted ever so slightly.

“Well, it’s  _ going  _ to be fine. I don’t think I can do very much with it right now.”

“You should tie that up in a sling,” said Bad, stepping forward, “just to keep it from getting jostled around. Hand me your scarf?”

“Yeah, one second.” As George unwound his crimson scarf with Sapnap’s help, the captain took his injured hand into his own gentle grasp.

Upon receiving the scarf from George, Bad started to set about folding it and tying it around his neck. “Let me know if it hurts.”

“To be honest, I can’t feel much of it right now. Fundy gave me something to muddle the pain… I’m  _ not _ looking forward to when it wears off.”

“You’re not gonna be able to steer the horse, are you,” Sapnap said more than asked, giving George’s injury a dubious look. 

“No, I’m not,” sighed George. “I guess Dream will be steering, then.”

Dream nodded slowly. “I could take the reins for the time being.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to ride with me, man?” Sapnap offered, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at his horse.

“You’re loaded up with more supplies than the others, the weight would be too much. I’d have to switch off at some point. If I stick with Dream, it’ll just be easier in the long run.”

“George should stay with Dream for now,” Bad agreed, finishing off the knot of George’s new sling. He took a few steps back, standing beside Skeppy as he surveyed the rest of the group. “Now, no one else was hurt, right?” Everyone shook their heads, and the captain let out a relieved sigh. “Thank goodness for that…”

Once everyone was ready, the group split off to go mount their horses. One thing, George noticed, was that Dream had become fairly proficient at mounting a horse from the ground. He reached over, put a foot in the stirrup, and hoisted himself up all in one fluid motion. Settled in his seat, he offered a hand to George.

George was a little frustrated with how unsteady he was as Dream hauled him into the saddle, finding it difficult to coordinate when it seemed like all of his muscles had decided to give up on him. He felt oddly winded when he finally got in his seat, blinking away the dizziness that sent his world slightly askew.

_ Gods _ , if he wasn’t tired before, then he definitely was now. It was like his skull had been made from lead, his head was so heavy. As their horses started off down the trail again, he discovered that keeping his eyes open was really starting to become  _ such _ a chore…

...He found his forehead planted between Dream’s shoulder blades again. He surged upright with a sleep-slurred, “S-sorry…”

Dream chuckled lightly, seemingly amused. “It’s fine,” the wanderer assured him gently. “Actually, you can rest your head on my back if you wanna just...relax for a minute.”

George made a questioning face even though he knew Dream couldn’t see it. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dream shrugged. “I don’t mind. All I ask is that you take your goggles off. They, uh, kinda dig into my back.”

“Oh.” George reached up and pulled his white forge goggles from where they rested at the top of his head. He looped the strap around his wrist. Then, he carefully lowered the side of his head against the middle of Dream’s back. “This fine?”

“Yup.” Huh. It was odd to hear Dream talk when George had his ear pressed so closely to the wanderer’s back. The sound sort of...vibrated through his head… Weird…

George was nodding off before he could even say thank you.

  
  
  


He was in and out for the next few hours. He could only tell that hours had, in fact, passed because each time his eyes fluttered open, the shadows of the trees were longer, and the light peeking between the branches had melted from the blue of early afternoon into the familiar golden glow of early evening. 

Sometimes, when he woke, the group was silent. Other times, Bad was plucking a tranquil tune, or Skeppy was playfully bickering with him, or Sapnap and Fundy were chatting. As far as George could tell, Dream never spoke. Though, there was a singular time where George was briefly stirred by a soft chuckle overhead, accompanied by that same deep vibration through his skull. He didn’t have much time to make sense of it, though, as he slipped away too quickly to do so.

His dozing was dreamless, just an absolute darkness with murky bits of reality occasionally drifting across his consciousness, such as the times he awoke; or the fact that he was still vaguely aware of the feeling of the saddle beneath him swaying in a constant, comforting motion; or the perennial sensation of the soft fabric of Dream’s coat pressed against his hair.

Believe it or not, it was some of the best sleep George had gotten in a while. That may or may not have been due to the potion working its way through his system, but at this point, did he really care? Not particularly.

Not particularly…

  
  
  
  


It was the overhead voice and deep vibration that pulled him out of sleep this time around.

“It’s impressive, to be honest.”

“What, the fact that he’s stayed on the horse the entire time, or that he’s actually been  _ asleep _ the entire time?” asked another voice.

“Yes.”

“Who’s gonna wake him?” asked a third.

“Feels wrong to,” remarked a fourth. “He’s like a cat. Once he falls asleep on you, you’re legally obligated to stay still.”

“‘M not a cat,” George mumbled, eyes squeezed shut.  _ Noooo, I want to go back to sleep… _

“Well,” said a voice that was unmistakably Sapnap, “that solves  _ that  _ problem.” 

_ Yeah, unfortunately… _

A hand came to pat him on the knee -  _ also _ unmistakably Sapnap. “Wakey wakey, Georgie. We’re at our campsite for tonight, so you’ve gotta get down.”

George, accepting the fact that he was going to have to start moving, blinked his eyes open to see that the group, bar Dream, was standing at the foot of his horse. Behind them loomed an alcove similar to the one they had stayed in during their first night on the road. The wanderer’s signature D-plus-smiley-face combo was lightly etched into the stone on one of the interior walls. He and Dream, meanwhile, were still in the saddle. At some point during the trip, George had curled his good arm into the fabric of the back of Dream’s coat, probably as an instinctive measure to keep himself from falling off.

“Oh,” he said articulately.

Getting out of the saddle was just as precarious as getting in, and Sapnap had to steady him once he landed on the ground lest he fall flat on his face. The movement jostled his slung arm, which resulted in a pang of discomfort shooting down his hand from the base of his wrist to his fingertips. He hissed through his teeth. “And I think  _ that _ would be the potion wearing off,” he grit out.

“Probably,” Fundy agreed. “It’s been a few hours, so the long-term effects are starting to fade. I’d give you something else to deal with the pain, but the only thing I have that could help would be more weakness potions, and taking more than one of those in a day can be pretty awful for you. I made that mistake once, and believe me, it’s not something you want to try.”

“I think I remember hearing about that, actually,” said Skeppy. “You’d broken your leg, right?”

“ _ And _ my foot, all because Sapnap dared me to jump down from the ledge to go exploring with him in the quarry.”

“In my defense, how was  _ I _ supposed to know you didn’t know how to tuck and roll?” Sapnap retorted.

The scholar gave him a flat look. “Sapnap, I was ten, and I literally spent a vast majority of my childhood cooped up inside studying. What gave you the impression I knew even  _ basic  _ parkour?”

“So what happened when you took the extra potion?” Dream inquired, swiftly dismounting to stand on George’s other side.

“Threw up for almost two days. Couldn’t keep anything down. My parents didn’t allow me to have access to medicinal potions for years after that.”

Needless to say,  _ that  _ efficiently deterred George from even considering a second potion of weakness, but it didn’t stop the gradual but steady onset of pain that followed. He tried his best to ignore it by busying himself with other things. He helped Fundy start a fire when Skeppy came back with the firewood, and he watched Dream as he worked on his map. The wanderer muttered coordinates and locations under his breath while he scratched notes into the margins with a dull charcoal pencil. George noticed him make a couple dark purple X’s with tinted chalk. It was the same color he used for the Endomain heart’s borders, but the marks were made  _ outside _ the perimeter. There were also some new, tentative borders drawn in with dotted lines.

“You think there’s been a shift in the heart?” George asked, sitting himself down cross-legged beside Dream.

The wanderer nodded, penciling in another swift note. “A midday enderman sighting really only happens in Endomain hearts. Either the borders shifted, or we got really unlucky.”

“Wrong place, wrong time?”

“Yeah.” Dream continued to make marks on his map. He sketched out temporary borders, frowned, muttered discrepancies under his breath, erased them, and redrew them several times over, seemingly dissatisfied with one thing or another. Eventually, he dropped his pencil and shook out his hand as the other crept up towards his neck. 

“Something the matter?” George asked, ducking his head and craning his neck to try and get a better look at Dream’s face - for all the good that would do him. The pale grin was as inexpressive as ever. 

Dream blew out a long breath between his lips. “No, just thinking.”

“‘Bout what?”

Dream offered no reply. Instead, he picked up his pencil and started sketching borders again. And that was that.

Sapnap and Bad arrived with that night’s haul a few minutes later - more rabbits, simply because they were small, manageable, and easy to find. George didn’t really care, as he didn’t feel like eating (he just wanted to go back to sleep), but Sapnap managed to convince him otherwise. So, as the sun was setting, they skinned, roasted, and consumed the meal in relative quiet.

(George couldn’t help but notice that Dream, despite the fact that he probably hadn’t had a decent meal since at least that morning, specifically took a smaller portion, and even then, didn’t finish the entire thing. George briefly considered saying something, but after what happened last time, he decided against it.)

Following their supper, they still had a little time left before they would have to go dark for the night. They decided to find other ways to pass the time. Dream, using some spare thread and a needle he had tucked away in his satchel, offered to stitch up Fundy’s shirt, the same one that had been torn by an arrow the previous day. While he worked on that, Sapnap helped George replace his old bandages with new ones, dousing the cheap fabric with more drops of health potions. George later found himself curled up against Sapnap’s side, listening to Fundy and Bad play their fiddles together.

Well, they weren’t so much as ‘playing’ as they were messing around. Seated with their backs against each other, they held their instruments in their laps and took turns plucking a single note.

Bad positioned his fingers along the neck and played a low, reverberating note.

Fundy narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. “...B flat?”

“Yup. Your turn.”

Fundy went ahead and played a higher, crisper note.

Bad sighed, drumming his fingers on the body of his fiddle. “C... _ sharp _ ?”

“D natural,” Fundy corrected.

Bad’s shoulders dropped. “Nuh-uh!”

“Yuh-huh!”

“I don’t believe you for a second, you muffin, let me see.”

The pair spun around to face each other. Bad carefully observed Fundy’s fingering as he held his fiddle out demonstratively and plucked the same note once again. “D natural.”

Bad squinted. “Hold on, play your open string with me.”

At the same time, Bad and Fundy plucked their fiddles without putting any of their fingers down. What resulted was a discordant tone.

“Oooo,” Sapnap winced, “ _ someone’s _ out of tune.”

“It’s him,” both said at the same time. They stared at each other. “What?!”

“Sounds like you need a tiebreaker,” George remarked pointedly.

Bad heaved a sigh. “Skeppyyyy…”

“Alright, alright,” Skeppy said, turning off his Screen and shifting himself from leaning on Bad’s side to seat himself in front of both of the musicians. “Play me your notes.”

They took turns playing the string in question, Skeppy watching both of them and listening intently. After a moment, he decided, “Yeah, sorry Fundy, but you’re off key. You’re a little sharp.”

Bad pumped a fist in the air. “Woo!”

“Ugh,” Fundy grumbled, turning the corresponding peg to tighten the string and plucked gently as he went along to track the instrument’s progress to becoming in-tune.

“I didn’t know you knew how to play, Skeppy,” Dream remarked, briefly glancing up from the shirt he was mending.

“Oh, I don’t,” Skeppy replied. He placed himself back to his original position beside Bad. “But when you’ve got a musician as a roommate, you learn a thing or two.”

“I ramble at him  _ a lot _ ,” Bad said with a shrug, “and apparently he’s listened.”

“I also hung out with you when you were at your lessons with Fundy,” Skeppy reminded. “Almost every single one. In theory, I could play the fiddle just as good as you.”

“I mean, if you actually took the time to  _ practice _ …”

“Nah. I’ve gotta help run the clock towers ‘n lamps in Northwick. I don’t have time to practice.”

“Isn’t Bad a literal captain of the Wickan guard?” Dream pointed out.

Skeppy leaned his head back onto Bad’s shoulder and lazily pointed a finger at Dream. “That is besides the point.”

“It’s...really not.”

Skeppy yawned. “And I dooooon’t care.”

“Tired?” Fundy prompted.

“Yeah.”

George felt Sapnap give him a nudge. “How’re you holding up?”

George rubbed his face and exhaled. “Currently still conscious,” he replied noncommittally.

Bad rested his cheek on top of Skeppy’s head. “I think we should turn in for the night. It’s been a long day for everyone, and we still have a good deal of ground to cover tomorrow.”

There was a chorus of agreements, and everyone moved to roll out their sleeping bags and strip off their outer gear and outer clothes. Fundy, who agreed to take first watch, set about reducing the fire to embers and lighting up a lantern. Sleeping bags were pushed together to conserve warmth, save for Dream’s, who still kept himself separate from the group.

But even though he was off to the side, George noticed that Dream had positioned himself a good deal closer to the group than he had the first night. His blanket was just a foot from George’s own.

  
  
  


George figured that he would have slept like a stone through the entire night if it weren’t for the numbing effects of the weakness potion finally wearing off completely about half an hour later. After that, sleep came in snatches as he tried futilely to ignore the constant burn and ache in his hand. He knew he just had to give it a couple more hours before the healing pots did their job. However, those potions did nothing for his discomfort at the moment, so George was left with fitful rest.

However, one of the times George awoke in the night was not due to the throbbing of his injury. Voices from somewhere in the camp drifted into his sleep and reeled him into consciousness. The first one he registered was soft and strained, choked up with unshed tears.

It took George a few long seconds to realize it was  _ Dream _ .

“ - get them  _ all the time _ , and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to get rid of them…”

George turned his head to the side and peeked over the sleeping bodies of Sapnap, Fundy, and Skeppy to see Dream and Bad sitting beside the lantern and the remains of the fire. Dream had both his hands hung on the back of his neck, and his knees were curled up towards his chest.

Bad nodded slowly, understanding. “I know what it’s like. I got nightmares and night terrors nearly every night without fail for the longest time. It’s not fun, is it?”

Dream shook his head with conviction. “I  _ hate _ it.”

“I know.”

“How did you get better?”

Bad’s expression twisted up into something sad and complicated. “I...didn’t. Haven’t. I still get nightmares, just a lot less frequently.”

The wanderer made a small, hopeless sound in the back of his throat and dropped his forehead onto his knees.

Bad considered him before venturing timidly, “Something... _ caused _ your nightmares, right?”

Dream sat up, going tense all over impressively fast. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he blurted.

“Y-you don’t have to,” Bad swiftly assured him with a placating gesture. “I was just wondering because I’ve noticed some things about you that I see in myself  _ and _ my past self.” He put a hand to his chest and leaned in a little, expression open and empathetic. “My nightmares are caused by something too, and while I have my suspicions as to what might be the cause of yours, I promise you, Dream, I’m not going to make any assumptions.”

The wanderer relaxed minutely, though his hands still remained on the back of his neck. They only moved from their position once so that he could one-handedly adjust his mask.

“...It gets easier, bit by bit,” Bad told him in a whisper, eyes looking off to the entrance of the cave where Runica Forest lay sleeping. “I wish it was as easy as just ‘getting over it’, but I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that it doesn’t work like that. There are things I’ve found that don’t quite  _ fix _ it, but they do help. Like, trying to sleep and eat as regularly as possible, even if it isn’t much; doing something that makes you happy or can be a temporary distraction if you need it; and…”

Bad’s words faltered a little before he continued, “I know this one might be hard for you in the long run, because you travel so much, but I’ve found that having someone close to you to lean on really helps. I love all my friends, of course, and they’re all a huge help, but it’s just...there’s that  _ one _ person, you know? Like, for me, it’s Skeppy. I’ve known him for ages, and he’s helped pull me out of some dark places in my life. I don’t like to think of where I would be if it weren’t for him.”

He gave a small, fond smile. “He was the one to convince me that I needed to actually see someone about all my issues, but then the Aggression hit, and some less urgent things were put on the backburner, and…”

The captain waved a hand, dismissing himself. “But enough about me and my own problems. What I’m trying to get at is this, Dream: I understand we haven’t really known each other for very long, but I’m telling you now that you’re always welcome to talk to me. Skeppy would lend an ear too, I think, and I know for sure George would be happy to.”

Dream seemed to mull this over for a moment. Then, he whispered, just barely audible, “...George is nice…” 

He said it like he couldn’t believe it, that kindness was a strange, foreign notion to him. And George himself wasn’t sure what to make of that; he wasn’t sure he  _ wanted _ to make anything of that.

Bad nodded slowly. “Yeah, he is.” 

The captain put a gentle hand on the wanderer’s shoulder. “Look, Dream, whatever it is that you went through  _ happened _ , or  _ is happening _ , and now you’re having to pay the price. It’s the worst, and there isn’t anything that can magically make it go away; but there are things that make it easier, and eventually,  _ eventually _ ...you’ll heal. It’s rough, and I don’t think you - or anyone, for that matter - would make it out unscathed, but recovering is possible.”

Bad leaned his head in, tone earnest. “I’ve seen you. You’re strong. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Silence stretched between the pair for a long, melancholy moment. Dream remained motionless, staring down at his knees until the hands hung on the back of his neck came up to slide beneath his mask so he could rub his face. He sniffled once, let out a shuddering breath, and whispered, “I’m just so  _ tired _ , Bad.”

The captain’s eyebrows knitted up as Dream finally cracked and broke, the sheer force of his sobs wracking his entire body as he tried desperately to swallow them back. 

“Oh, come here, you muffin head,” Bad murmured sweetly, an arm wrapping around Dream’s trembling shoulders. The wanderer hid his face in Bad’s shoulder and clutched at the front of his dark red coat, looking for an anchor. 

And Bad, the saint that he is, just hugged him tighter, bringing his other arm around to pull Dream in. “Everything is going to be okay…”

George wanted to do something. He wanted to get up and put himself on Dream’s other side, sling his own arm over the wanderer’s shoulders, comfort him, be there for him. But he knew that he was already intruding by eavesdropping, and stepping forward would be inappropriate. This was supposed to be between Dream and Bad. George had no place in this conversation.

So, George turned his head to look the other way and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep that he knew wouldn’t be coming for a very, very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter sure was a rollercoaster, wasn't it? 
> 
> Side note: if I joked around with my chapter titles, I would've definitely called this one, "George finally gets a fucking nap". He needed it so bad, guys. And uh, did I seriously build up George's exhaustion for nine entire chapters /just/ so that he could fall asleep on someone (read: Dream)? Perhaps.
> 
> Oh, and big brother/captain BBH gives me so much serotonin guys you have no idea-
> 
> Anyway, onto a quick update. I don't know if y'all have noticed, but the chapter length has gotten increasingly longer as this fic has progressed. Like, I went into this wanting to do chapters with 4.5k-6k words in length. Meanwhile the past several chapters have averaged anywhere between 5k to 9k, and looking at my drafts, they're just gonna get longer. MUCH longer. We're heading into a pretty lengthy arc with a lot of world building, character backgrounds/ development, etc., which is fun, but yeah that also results in long chapters.
> 
> So what does that mean? Well, I've made the executive decision to change my update schedule from every Friday to every /other/ Friday. That way I can actually keep up with the pace I've set for myself. It'll keep me from stressing out and also allow me to maybe dabble in a few oneshots or smaller works. I've already dipped my toes into DreamSMP, and it's pretty fun to write for those characters. (Hey Ranboo stans where y'all at, how ya feelin after that lore stream today? Ya cryin?? Sameeee.)
> 
> Anyway, I hope the change in schedule doesn't throw you guys off too much. If I feel like I can, I'll bring it back down to one week, but I don't see that happening anytime soon. Thanks for being so understanding :)
> 
> Welp, that's all. As always, comments and kudos are always appreciated, thank you again for all the kindness! See y'all on January 29th!! <3


	17. Wayward Sons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it's been a little while! I think I'm definitely going to be keeping up with this two-week pace for a bit. Anyway, on to Part Five: Golestiera - which, oddly enough, begins long before they reach the city itself. Don't worry, there's a reason for that ;)
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

As expected, everyone was roused by the captain at seven in the morning, and they got to work gearing up for the day, Sapnap and Fundy heading into the woods to take care of some lingering monsters while the rest of them stayed behind to pack up camp and ready the horses. Words fluttered between the four of them, still groggy from sleep but coherent nonetheless. By the time they started to pass food around for breakfast, everyone was present and completely awake, and conversation was in full swing.

Though, George didn’t say much through breakfast, too wrapped up in his own head to join in on the discussion. He wondered if what he had witnessed the night before was just some sad dream. Nothing about that morning seemed to be different. Was something _supposed_ to be different? The only indication that anything had transpired between Bad and Dream the night before was that Bad yawned through breakfast, and he wasn’t quite as chipper as he usually was in the morning; but being a little extra tired wasn’t atypical for Bad, so no one besides George seemed to notice or care.

That was when George started to pay a little more attention to Dream, and he realized something: Dream was eating. Not picking at his food with shaking fingers, nor nibbling halfheartedly at the preserves, _actually eating_ . His appetite seemed to have made a genuine return. Not only that, but his shoulders were...looser. He wasn’t quite as hunched in on himself as he often was. He was still quiet, sure, and he occasionally reached up to adjust his mask or run his fingers along the patchwork scarf, but overall, he looked a little more at peace. _Just_ a little.

Though, George didn’t miss the way that Dream would wince slightly whenever Bad looked his way, head ducking briefly with an emotion George couldn’t place. Sometimes it _really_ _was_ hard to tell what was running through the wanderer’s mind with that mask of his - 

“ - George?” Fundy was asking him.

He blinked rapidly and quickly turned his head, looking over to the scholar. “Sorry?”

“Did you hear a single thing I said?”

_Whoops._ “Uh, no?”

Fundy rolled his eyes. “I was wondering if you wanted to replace the bandages now or if you think they would hold out until lunch. You’re going to need another dose of health pots at some point today, but if we can limit the number of pots we use, that would be for the best.”

“Oh, yeah.” George looked down at his hand. The bandages appeared clean enough, and when he peeked under the various layers of fabric, he didn’t see very much blood seeping through. The health potions poured into them must have done their job during the night. “I think I can hold out until lunch.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, save our supplies. I’ll let you know if something happens.”

“You’re still not gonna be able to hold the reins,” Skeppy remarked, swallowing a mouthful of bread. 

“No, I’m not. Guess that means Dream will be leading again.”

“Hey, more practice is more practice,” Dream said with a shrug. He smoothed out his map, which he had been working on through their meal. “Since we’re right on the Endomain’s borders, the terrain will be a lot less damaged from here on out. It should be easy enough. I mean, I think I did okay yesterday.”

“Hey, if I managed to stay asleep for several hours straight, then it must have been some smooth riding,” remarked George.

Dream tilted his head at him. “Were you really asleep that entire time?”

“For the most part.” George shrugged, thinking back on it. “I don’t remember waking up very many times. I was exhausted.”

“How’re you feeling now?” asked Sapnap.

“A lot less tired, actually,” George answered honestly. “I mean, my hand still hurts, but now I don’t feel like I’m dead on my feet...mostly.”

“Well, today is our last day of travel,” Bad announced. “Assuming everything goes according to plan, we should be in Golestiera before nightfall, and then we’ll be able to get some proper rest”

“We might actually get there with a couple hours to spare,” Dream added, tapping at his map again. “It depends on how many stops we make or if we run into trouble on the way, which I don’t think we will. We should be at the Venz Grasslands by early afternoon, and there’s not much out there that could cause us any delays. These parts of Runica Forest are pretty tame too, not a lot of monsters.”

“So, an easy ride today?” George asked.

“Most likely.”

“Then there’s no use delaying,” said Bad, standing up and brushing the breadcrumbs from his trousers. “Let’s set out.”

With that, everyone saddled up and left the little alcove behind. It was well after eight at this point, so the glare of the morning sun was strong as ever. It came in at a sharp angle to cast the autumn-tanned forest in a warm glow. The air was crisp and smelled of midnight drizzles. George pulled his crimson scarf a little higher, settling it over his mouth and nose to stave off the chill. He knew it would heat up more as the day wore on, but for now, he was content to wrap himself up in his layers. 

One of the perks of not having to steer the horse was that George could pull his arms into his coat to keep himself warm. (Huh. Maybe he should let Dream control more often.) 

Skeppy seemed to be doing something similar, cloak pulled tight around himself as Bad took care of the steering as usual. Though, one of his hands was left exposed to excitedly pat a wild rhythm on his thigh. “It’s so weird to think that, before tonight, we’ll be in Zero Town,” the redstoner said, a smile stretching across his lips. “It’s always seemed so far from Northwick but now it’s _literally_ right past these trees!” He gestured onward into the forest with a disbelieving wave of his hand. “Well, I mean, not really - but you get my point!”

“Golestiera seems far because it _is_ far,” George said in reply. “I’ve had to head down for competitions a few times. I’ve never traveled the whole way in one sitting, but it takes about five or six days total by the Main Road.”

“And Dream got us down here in just four days,” Fundy remarked, glancing back at the wanderer. “Not gonna lie, that’s pretty cool.”

Dream shrugged lightly. “It’s what I do.”

“Ease up, guys,” the captain commented, slowing the group to a walk as the path narrowed and their horses were forced to walk single file.

“So, once we get to Golestiera, what’re we going to be doing, Bad?” asked Sapnap. “I mean, we’ve got the basic gameplan, but do we have anything in particular that needs to be done?”

“It depends,” Bad replied. “I mean, when we get there, we’re probably just going to check in at an inn and rest up. Then, we’ll probably stay in the city for a few days before heading into the Nether. We have to properly take stock of our supplies, and we have to meet up with our contact to get a better understanding of what the situation is in Zero Town.”

“Oh, yeah, that reminds me,” Skeppy said, scrolling through his Screen. “He messaged me this morning saying there was a quote-unquote ‘recent development’ that we should know about, but he’d rather tell us face-to-face.”

“Did he say if it was good or bad?”

“Uh, no, he wasn’t very specific. Just said that it was important. He’s still waiting on more details, apparently.”

“Yeah, quick question,” Fundy spoke up, raising a hand even though the pair couldn’t see it. “Are you ever going to tell us who your contact is? Because you keep _talking_ about him, but you haven’t even told us his name.”

“Oh, yeah,” Skeppy answered. With some difficulty, he turned around so he sat backwards in his seat in the saddle to better face the rest of them, who followed behind. “He goes by ‘Mega’. He’s an old friend of Bad and mine.” Skeppy held his arm up so they could see the chatroom displayed on the little monitor. “Mega’s lived in Zero Town his entire life, so he knows the city like the back of his hand. He and I have been talking about the plans in this private chatroom for a while now. It’s on a really small, really secure channel, so the Golestiran admins can’t go poking their noses into our business.” 

“How do you know him?” George asked. “Public server?” 

Skeppy startled, and his grin fell. “U-uh...yes...?”

George stared at the redstoner. Well, _that_ was a blatant lie. 

And it seemed that the others were able to pick up on it too. “Riiiight, you met Mega on a ‘public server’,” Fundy echoed, making air quotes. “So, a better question: how did you _actually_ meet him?”

“Wh - uh - why does it matter?” Skeppy asked in reply, fingers drumming on his Screen.

“Well, it only matters now because you’re being so weird about it,” George explained. He frowned at the similarities between now and the incident that had taken place at the river the day before, and he hoped that nothing would escalate now like it had then. He didn’t think the group could stand another conflict like that.

“I’m not - I wouldn’t - ” Skeppy couldn’t seem to agree on a response, finally groaning in frustration and replying, “It’s just complicated, okay? And it’s really not important either.”

“But this guy is your contact, isn’t he?” Sapnap pointed out. “If we’re going to meet up with him to discuss parts of our plan, then I want to know who he is and why we can trust him.”

“Oh, I’m telling you now, _we can trust him_ ,” Skeppy insisted, patting the leather of the saddle for emphasis. “Mega is really good at what he does, and he’s completely on board with our plan to kill the Dragon. In fact, we wouldn’t be able to pull this off without his help, so he’s a major reason why any of this is happening in the first place. He’s been able to connect us to the right people so we can have access to the Nether portals, and he’s been constantly giving us updates on the situation so we can adjust if we need to. Besides, I’ve known him since I was like two years old, so there’s - ”

And he stopped short, slapping a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

Bad exhaled, dropping his head. “ _Dang_ it, Skeppy...”

George didn’t realize the mistake Skeppy had made until he repeated that last sentence in his head. Then, it clicked, and he turned to look back at where Sapnap followed directly behind him. By the shock on his face, George figured that he must have come to the same conclusion as well. 

For years now, George knew that there were two things about Bad and Skeppy that they simply did not talk about. First was Bad’s ‘issues’. Everyone was well aware that the captain was a _little_ more of a mess than he cared to admit, and by wordless agreement, everyone pitched in to silently help him in any way that they could. They had stopped asking Bad what was wrong ages ago when he refused to give any answers. Some of Bad’s quirks just became his norm, like his terrible sleeping habits and the fact that he could only sleep if Skeppy was nearby.

Second was Bad and Skeppy’s shared past. Like most others in Southern Northwick, George had been curious about the pair of travel-worn kids who had blown into town one rainy April morning nine years prior. George, as well as Fundy and Sapnap, struck up a friendship with them, and they quickly learned that the duo’s origins were not something they were comfortable sharing, Bad especially so. George had figured that, with time, more details would come to light. Both of them were pretty skittish when they first arrived in Northwick. As they became more comfortable in their new home, perhaps they would be more willing to share stories about their lives before that fateful morning.

But they never did. For all of Skeppy’s excited blabbering and Bad’s late night ramblings over the years, surprisingly few details about their past were given. They were inexplicably careful. And hell, it was frustrating at first. There had been times when arguments broke out over the matter, George and the others demanding if the two really did trust them at all, if they really _were_ friends.

After one particularly nasty conflict that left Bad in tears and Skeppy trembling, they stopped asking. 

They accepted the fact that it was just another mystery about the duo that they would never solve. To quell George and the others’ concerns, Bad and Skeppy insisted time and time again that there was no way that not knowing of their past could hurt anyone, not up in Northwick. Bad had once even gone as far as to say that not knowing was _safer_ for them.

So George, Sapnap, and Fundy learned to live with it, satiating their curiosity by scraping together what puzzle pieces had fallen through the cracks over the years and trying to see how they fit together.

And Skeppy had just given them one _massive_ puzzle piece. 

George turned back around to stare at Skeppy and said slowly, “You’re old friends with someone who has lived in Golestiera his ‘ _entire_ life’.”

Skeppy brought his hand down, mouth twisted up in a nervous sort of grin. “Uh - ”

“And you and Bad grew up in the same hometown,” Fundy added; it was something that they had learned a while ago.

“That’s, um - ”

“You guys are from Golestiera,” Sapnap finished. He paused, then repeated it, this time with a little more awe in his voice, “You guys are _from_ _Golestiera_. What the fuck…”

“Language,” Bad admonished, though there wasn’t very much energy behind it at all. The captain’s voice was uncharacteristically low, a grumble more than anything.

Skeppy winced at Bad’s tone and drummed his fingers on his Screen again, a little faster this time. “U-uh, sorry ‘bout that, Bad...”

The captain was obviously pissed, but he gave no answer. Skeppy winced again, mouthing a curse that Bad didn’t hear as his eyes anxiously skated across the floor, looking anywhere but at George and the others.

...It was in the following silence that Dream spoke up, sounding genuinely perplexed. “So, you guys... _didn’t_ know they were from Golestiera?”

George scoffed at the odd question, joking bitterly, “Why, did you?”

“Uh...yeah. It’s kinda obvious.”

And he said it so simply that George was stuck feeling like the dumbest man on planet Earth for all of three seconds before he thought to ask, baffled, “Wait, _how_?”

“How could _you_ have known?” Sapnap demanded as well. “We’ve been trying to figure it out for years, you’ve known them for literal _days_.”

“Okay, well, first of all, I’ve _only_ ever heard locals refer to Golestiera as ‘Zero Town’,” Dream began with a shrug. “Plus, it’s basically slang; it wouldn’t come up in any professional settings, so that rules out visiting for guard work or something.” 

“And then there’s the fact that Skeppy has a contact in the city to begin with,” Dream rattled on, tilting his head to the side. “The Golestieran network is way too closed off. Their public servers only reach out to their immediate neighbors, so Northwick isn’t within range to just meet people online. Skeppy would’ve had to have gone down there himself to meet someone over the public servers, but I thought it was more likely that he already had a friend in the city. That would explain how he’s able to talk to them in a personal chatroom rather than over the servers: they have each others’ direct contact info, which you should only exchange in person. So, Skeppy’s a Goldie, and so is Bad.”

“‘Goldie’?” Sapnap echoed.

Skeppy sighed, rubbing his arm. “It’s a nickname for people from Golestiera.”

“It’s also slang,” Dream added.

“How do you know so many Golesteiran slang words?” asked the scholar.

“Golestiera is one of my most frequently visited locations for commissions; there’s always plenty of work there. You start learning some of the local dialect the more time you spend in the same place.”

Fundy hummed thoughtfully. “You and I must move in different circles, then. I’ve been to Golestiera plenty of times for supernatural studies conferences, and I don’t remember hearing ‘Zero Town’ or ‘Goldie’ even once.”

“They’re a little more on the informal side. My commissioners are usually high status, but I tend to stick with the middle- or lower-class whenever I stay in Golestiera.”

George himself wasn’t all too familiar with Golestieran colloquialisms, though he could definitely recall some ‘Goldie’ acquaintances he’d made during competition referring to the city by its nickname. He just hadn’t thought much of it when Bad called it ‘Zero Town’. Dream, on the other hand, clearly understood the implications - as well as how the Golestieran network functioned. George knew that their servers were very secure and the admins were pretty strict, but he hadn’t known that the community’s personal network itself was so closed off. That would mean it would be impossible to make long-distance friends over the major public servers, the ones that spanned all of Othana. George didn’t have any long-distance friendships himself, but it must’ve been disappointing for anyone in Golestiera hoping to make some.

“Enough about slang words,” Sapnap cut in, pulling George from his thoughts. “I just wanna know why Skeppy and Bad kept it hidden from us for so long. Like, there’s nothing wrong with being from Golestiera, right?”

“Golestierans are a rather entitled bunch,” Fundy commented idly. “They live in a technological superpower and know it. Makes for a pretty self-righteous crowd. Although, I could hardly say Skeppy and Bad fit the description.” 

“Yeah, uh, Golestiera’s got some...interesting people,” Skeppy said, fiddling with the straps of his Screen. “Not all of them are mean, though, you’ve just gotta find the right crowd. But reputation isn’t the reason we didn’t tell you guys about it.” He hesitated greatly before adding, ducking his head, “To be honest, it’s mostly for Bad’s sake.”

“Skeppy,” Bad exhaled crossly.

“What? I-It’s true! And I’m not blaming you or anything, I swear. I’m just trying to explain.”

“Well, explain _less_.”

Skeppy crossed his arms and leaned backwards, bonking the back of his head against Bad’s. “Dude, we talked about this. We _knew_ that this might happen if we went through with the plan. You said you’d be okay with them knowing.”

Bad paused, and by the shift of his arm and shoulders, George could tell he was dragging a hand down his face. Eventually, he mumbled in reply, “I know what I said... a-and you’re right.”

George saw Sapnap grimace, regret flickering across his expression. “Sorry, Bad, I -... you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”

“You don’t,” George felt it was necessary to insist, and he heard Fundy hum in agreement. “If you’re uncomfortable talking about it, then don’t talk about it.”

“Don’t push it,” Dream added simply. There was something that was so _knowing_ about his tone; George figured that - based on what he’d heard the previous night - Dream would understand a thing or two about what Bad was feeling.

“No, i-it’s fine, I’m fine,” Bad exhaled. “Just...gimme a minute to organize my thoughts.”

And so the group fell into a respectful silence.

It was then that the trail widened out so they could ride side by side again, and Bad pulled back so his horse was more towards the middle of the group. With his new position, George could get a better look at his face. George, for all his curiosity over the years regarding his friends’ past, felt his interest wane greatly at the exhaustion tugging at Bad’s features. It pulled his shoulders down, forced him to duck his head as he bore an invisible weight, and took away the usual energy about him. He fiddled with the reins, massaging the leather between his fingers.

A moment passed, and the captain lifted his head and told them carefully, voice soft, “My situation in Golestiera wasn’t a good one, so I decided to leave, and Skeppy decided to come with. That’s really all there is to it. I mean, there _is_ more, but it’s messy and complicated. I’ve been trying to leave it all behind me since I left. That’s the reason I came to Northwick in the first place: to get away from it. So I’m sorry we - _I_ \- never told you guys anything. It’s painful to think about... and it’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” George echoed, not liking the connotations one bit. 

Bad nodded numbly.

George thought back to the conversation he’d overhead the previous night, to all those little quirks of Bad’s that had become a staple of his existence over the years…and he started to connect dots that he wasn’t so sure he should be connecting. Did he have specifics? No, but he really, _really_ didn’t like what he was seeing between the lines.

“...I-It’s not all bad, though - going back to Golestiera, I mean,” the captain was quick to reassure after a beat of worrying silence; he forced a smile. “We get to see Mega in person again after all these years.”

“ _The Flipped Furnace_ is still around, isn’t it?” asked Skeppy, quickly latching onto the change in subject. 

Bad nodded slowly. “Yeah, the Reimanns never said anything about losing it in their letters, and Mega would’ve definitely kicked up a fuss if they did.”

“Do you think it’d be safe to visit?”

“I don’t know. We could ask Mega what he thinks. He’s got a better idea of, you know…” Skeppy looked over his shoulder to watch as Bad reached out to the side and rapidly signed something at him. A lot of it was finger spelt, George could tell, but Bad’s hands always moved just a little too fast for George to follow. 

Skeppy, of course, had no problems understanding. “Yeah, true. I’ll message Mega in a bit. It would be really cool if we could stop by _The Flipped Furnace_ , though.”

“What’s _The Flipped Furnace_?” asked Sapnap. “Is that a restaurant?”

“Yep,” Bad chirped, maybe a little too cheerily, though no one commented on it. “It’s a really nice mom ‘n pop cafe just a few city blocks from Zero-Zero. The Reimanns own the place and have since we were kids. Skeppy and I used to hang out in the booths all the time.”

“‘Hang out in the booths’,” Skeppy echoed, giggling to himself. “Yeah, that’s a really nice way to say ‘hide from the cops’ - ”

“Skeppy!” Bad objected, cutting him short. 

But the damage was already done.

“Whaaaaaat?!”

“The cops?!”

“You guys were criminals?”

“No way!”

“What did you do, what did you do?!”

“Oh, _please_ tell me Bad stole something.”

“Did you ever get arrested?!”

“Oh my gosh, stooooooop!” Bad groaned loudly, hiding his face in his hands.

Dream chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m having a _really_ hard time imagining Bad committing any sort of crime.”

“So am I,” George agreed, laughing as well. Adding a touch of faux disappointment to his voice, he said to the distressed captain, “Bad, you hid from the cops in a _mom and pop cafe_ ? That’s _low_.”

“It wasn’t just me!” Bad reminded, voice shrill with embarrassment. “Besides, it only happened, like, three times - ”

“ _Only_ three times - ?” Sapnap echoed with a snort.

“ - AND all those times were Skeppy’s fault!” Bad finished, shouting over the last of the smith’s words. “He always had to drag _me_ into it!”

“I liked to rewire the redstone lamp displays around Zero-Zero,” Skeppy explained with a childish smile and a little bob of his shoulders. “I did it pretty often, but there were only a few close calls, and whenever that happened, we just ran into _The Flipped Furnace_.”

“Did the Reimanns know you guys were hiding from the cops?” Fundy asked.

“Not the first two times. After the third time, though, Mister Reimann figured it out and made us go and apologize, and I had to go fix the wiring. We were let off easy because, well, we were like, _tiny_ , and rewiring the lamps didn’t really do any actual damage. It just changed the light settings and was a pain to fix sometimes. But they told us if we got caught again, we’d definitely get hauled in.”

“Still got in a lot of trouble, though,” Bad pointed out; he grimaced, shoulders hunching in at the memory: “Goodness, he was _furious_ with me…”

“Sounds like you guys were busy when you were kids,” George remarked, grinning at them.

“Skeppy, I’ll give you twenty emeralds if you go and rewire the lamps while we’re in Golestiera,” Sapnap told the redstoner.

Skeppy’s face lit up. “Oh my Gods, no shit?”

“Language!”

“No shit, dude,” Sapnap promised.

“ _Language_! And don’t encourage him!”

George laughed weakly, and he felt his grin turn a little worried. “Skeppy, you’re an adult. If you get caught, you’re _actually_ going to have to face charges.”

Dream tilted his head to the side consideringly. “ _If_ he gets caught.”

Skeppy smiled even wider. “ _If_ I get caught,” he echoed.

“Skeppy, as a friend, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t commit a felony in the middle of our quest to save the world,” Bad deadpanned.

Skeppy crossed his arms and pouted. “Gods, Bad, you’re no fun.”

“I’m ‘no fun’ because I don’t want you to get hauled in by the Golestieran Guard for tampering with government utilities?”

“A _good friend_ would help me commit crimes.”

Bad sputtered. “Wh - ! You - ! A good friend would keep you out of prison!”

George watched them argue about the matter for the next several minutes, somewhere between amazed and concerned with how quickly the argument had escalated. He really shouldn’t have been surprised, though, with their track record.

In a way, it was sort of nice to see Bad and Skeppy bickering like they usually did. The light in the captain’s eyes had returned, and his shoulders didn’t hunch like he was trying to curl into a tiny little ball. Despite his ‘frustration’ with Skeppy’s antics, there was a beaming grin stretched across his face. For as long as George could recall, they had always been like this, at each others’ throats as they playfully fought over petty little things, (usually) not letting it get too far. He wondered if they were like this before they came to Northwick too.

“ _Mega_ would let me rewire the lamps,” George heard Skeppy mutter with a huff. “He’d _help_ me, actually.”

“Mega would rat you out in a blink of an eye and you know it,” Bad replied matter-of-factly. “He works for the higher-ups in the Redstone Department now. He can’t let you get away with that without risking his position.”

“Speaking of Mega,” Sapnap cut in. “Skeppy, how do you know him? You never told us.”

“Oh, yeah,” Skeppy started brightly, the argument completely forgotten. “He and I grew up in the same children’s home.”

Fundy frowned. “Skeppy, you grew up in a children’s home?” he asked, voice tainted with mild concern.

“Yup,” Skeppy answered lightly. “Don’t worry, most of the people who worked there were nice. Some of the other kids were... _not_ , but I just avoided them as much as possible. ‘Sides, I had friends like Bad and Mega. Mega’s pretty cool. One of the caretakers had some sway at the RD, so a program started up to teach kids like us how to use redstone when we were young so we’d have something to work with when we got older. That’s how I got into redstone, and now Mega works for the RD full-time.”

“RD?” Dream echoed.

“Redstone Department. Either way, his position’s pretty helpful for us. The RD works with the Nether Department a lot, so he can get extra info about some of the public announcements pretty quickly, like the status of the Nether portals”

“And what _is_ their status? From what I know, Zero Town is the last city in Northern Othana with Nether portals - or, well, _functioning_ ones, anyway.”

Skeppy blew out an exhausted breath, tapping his Screen again. “Oh there’s a shit ton - ”

“Language - ”

“ - of protocols in place right now. Mega went on about it for, like, half an hour the last time I talked to him about them. Basically, it boils down to this: they’re not open to the public, entry is a last resort if they absolutely _need_ something from the Nether farms, and all but the smaller portals are shut down completely.”

“So how exactly are we supposed to get to the portals in the first place?” asked Dream.

“Breaking and entering.”

“ _Skeppy_ ,” Bad admonished.

“Ha ha, just kidding. Mega’s position is good for things other than info. He’s worked with the head of the RD, Director Mumbo, for a while now, so they’re pretty close, and Mumbo’s really good friends with the head of the Nether Department, Director Iskall. So, when we needed a way to get access to blaze rods - which are off the market right now - we called Mega for a favor, who called Mumbo for a favor, who called Iskall for a favor. 

“But because of the stupid-strict regulations put on Nether material consumption, Iskall can’t take any of the Nether materials from the city reserves without getting Council approval. He’d have to lie straight to the Council’s face about what he’s doing with the rods since he can’t just dish out government-regulated goods to a bunch of strangers ‘cause they asked nicely.”

“Lying to the Council is super hard to get away with,” Bad added helpfully. “The security in Golestiera is _insane_. I don’t think a whole day would go by before they figured out where those blaze rods really went, if they even approved it in the first place. Iskall would be risking his position, and if they found out Mega and Mumbo helped, they’d be muffin’d too. Also, we’d end up in trouble, and I’d rather not have to face the Golestieran government.”

“But there is _one_ thing Iskall has complete authority over,” Skeppy continued. “The portals themselves. He can’t give us full-on access to them without attracting the Council’s attention, but if he just happens to, oh I dunno, _leave the back door open_ or something, and then we just - ” He made a sliding gesture, skating his palms across each other in a quick motion “ - _you know_ , then who’s really to blame?”

“That’s still trespassing,” Dream reminded.

“Yeah, but Iskall won’t report us. That’s the whole point.”

“And this is the plan?”

“Uh-huh. Pretty cool, right?”

“It’s uh…” Dream fiddled with the reins. “It’s certainly _interesting_.”

“It’s crazy,” George admitted, pulling his arms out of his coat. “No need to sugar coat it, we know it’s a little out there. Skeppy spent weeks working out the details with Mega and the Directors, though, and they’ve decided that this is the best course of action with the circumstances.”

George remembered those first few weeks after the plan had originally been proposed. Skeppy had already been communicating with Mega for a few days, and they'd successfully roped Mumbo into this plot of theirs. The redstoner was constantly on his Screen, shooting ideas back and forth with this mysterious ‘contact’ of his. George would have asked for more details, but he was too busy with guard work, enderman defense training, and helping Sapnap and Fundy get the materials they needed. Before George knew it, Bad had called a meeting to lay out this - quite honestly - batshit crazy plan Skeppy had cobbled together.

But all the details worked out, so that was that.

“It would have been easier if we decided we wanted to hunt down the Ender Dragon, like, a couple months earlier,” Bad added. “The restrictions weren’t quite as stringent back then.”

“And you’re sure this is gonna work?” Dream asked, tone dubious.

Skeppy tilted his hand side to side in a so-so gesture. “Like, a solid sixty percent.”

“ _Sixty percent_?”

“Skeppy, cut it out,” Bad told him, shoving his elbow back into the redstoner’s side.

Skeppy giggled, batting Bad’s arm away. “I’m joking, I’m joking. This plan is basically fool proof, trust me. Mega and I wasted, like, four whole days trying to come up with every possible way this could go wrong, and we’ve ruled out pretty much everything. Iskall and Mumbo are totally ready to help us in any way that they can, too.”

“Within the abilities of their positions,” Sapnap tacked on.

“Well, yeah, of course.”

“Would’ve been a lot easier if people actually believed in the Legend of the Ender Dragon,” sighed Fundy, who had taken his charcoal pencil out and was in the middle of lightly doodling runes on the saddle. “Then maybe their council would’ve actually bothered to listen to us...”

“They’ll definitely believe the story after the Dragon’s dead and the Aggression’s over,” remarked Sapnap, grin sharp with excitement. 

“That’s assuming we can prove it,” Fundy pointed out.

“Well how did the heroes in the Legend of Old prove that they sealed the Dragon away?” asked George. 

“They say that all the endermen in the land came to thank the heroes personally for freeing them from the Dragon’s hold. That was proof enough for the people at the time.” Fundy growled a frustrated sound. “But I’m afraid that some of the councilors we’ve got nowadays are so dense that even _that_ won't be enough to get it through their thick skulls that the Legends are _fucking true_.” 

“Language, Fundy,” said Bad, glancing at the cross scholar out of the corner of his eye. “We have to try to be patient with these people. Not everyone grows up with easy access to the kinds of records and texts we have in Northwick.”

“The scholars of Golestiera have got a library full of ancient tomes but not a _single_ Gods-damn brain cell among them.”

“Well...I’m afraid there’s not much we can do about that.”

Fundy grumbled something under his breath that could’ve been some Galactic phrase or just your standard cursing, but George couldn’t say for sure which it was. 

“... _Anyway_ ,” Sapnap continued after a slightly awkward pause, “how did you guys end up in Northwick? Like, how did you even _get_ there?”

“Stole a horse,” Skeppy deadpanned. 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Well, okay, it technically belonged to Bad’s family, but Bad himself didn’t own it.”

“I like to think that we just borrowed it,” said the captain, “...for nine years.”

“Where’s the horse now?” Dream asked. 

“It’s, uh, dead.”

“...Oh.”

Skeppy winced with a nervous quirk of his lips, chuckling, “Y-Yeah, they're not getting that horse back anytime soon.”

There was a ripple of easy laughter through the group, and they continued on their ride through the final miles of Runica Forest.

  
  
  
  


Another stream, another stop for lunch. While the others ate and washed the dust of the morning’s travels from their hands and faces, Fundy helped George check his wound and replace the bandages.

“How does it feel?” asked Fundy, rummaging through his potions bag.

George looked over his hand, turning it this way and that. “It feels a lot better than it did last night.” He experimentally flexed his fingers so they were about a third of the way to completely curled up. “I can get to about here before it starts to hurt.”

Fundy hummed and bobbed his head. “That’s a really good sign. It looks like the potions are working.” Fundy handed a health pot for George to drink (which would be effective now that the weakness potion’s effects had entirely worn off) while he pulled out some fresh gauze and bandages. “If it continues to heal this quickly, then this might be the last dose you’ll need. I would still continue to wrap your hand, just because the skin is very sensitive and prone to breaking at the moment.”

It was then that Dream wandered over and took a seat beside George at the streambed. “How’s your hand?”

“Getting there,” George replied. “It’ll be good as new soon enough.”

“‘Good as new’ in the sense of functionality and comfort, yes,” Fundy specified, “but I doubt the flesh will ever fully recover. It’s most likely going to scar.”

“Well, that’s nothing new,” George replied with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve got plenty of scars from working in the Guard. This’ll just be one more to add to the collection, I guess.” He gently pressed his wounded palm and fingers and felt the uneven markings that warped the skin on his right hand. “At least this one will have a cool story.”

“A story of you being a moron?” Fundy said with a raise of an eyebrow.

“A story of George being a badass,” Sapnap corrected. He plopped down beside George and threw his arm over his shoulder with enough force to knock a breath out of him, though George chuckled all the same.

“Language, Sapnap,” Bad chided, looking up from his fiddle. “But, yeah that was brave what you did with the water on your hand, George.”

“Really cool,” Skeppy agreed with a bobbing nod.

“I would’ve used my canteen if I’d had it with me,” George told them as Fundy started to wind the gauze around his palm. “I didn’t really have much of a choice, though. I just _really_ didn’t want my face to get torn off - or Dream’s, for that matter. I think I could’ve come up with something better if I had more time.”

_Or maybe if I had actually stopped to think before tacking Dream into the bushes, that enderman wouldn’t have followed us down there in the first place,_ George thought to himself, bitter.

“But you didn’t, so you did what you had to,” the captain said solemnly. “That’s commendable, George.”

“You’ll _definitely_ have a story to tell when we get back to Northwick,” Sapnap grinned, “and a cool fucking scar to go with it. Techno’s gonna have a field day with _that_ one.”

“Who’s Techno?” asked Dream.

“One of the other captains of Southern Northwick,” Bad replied. “He’s George’s superior officer. Techno’s a bit of a strategy purist, likes to approach things from a very tactical perspective.”

“Using your bare hand to boil enderman hide doesn't exactly count as ‘tactical’,” George clarified, “not in the traditional sense. I mean, we’ve gotten extensive training on how to deal with enderman encounters, and I sorta threw that all to the wayside.”

“And it’s a good thing you did,” added Sapnap. He hugged George a little tighter into his side. “I don’t think you _or_ Dream would have come out of that alive if you hadn’t.”

A pang of unease curled in his stomach at the reminder, but George gave his best nonchalant shrug, joking with a meek smile, “Not exactly big on getting torn limb from limb, but thanks anyway.” 

Some chuckles rippled through the group, and Sapnap teasingly ruffled George’s hair, forcing a squawk out of the archer himself. But whatever joy he got out of it was brushed away by the mounting apprehension within himself. He hadn’t really taken the time to address the fact that he had been _this_ close to being gutted by that enderman, what with the emergency operation on his hand, him passing out on Dream, and overall just being far too exhausted to of think much beyond when his next chance to fall asleep was going to be. 

His memories of what occurred directly after the enderman disappeared were a little... _slurred_ , like a pencil drawing that had been smudged. All he had been able to comprehend was the ringing of his ears and the swirling of his vision and the _burning burning burning_ of his hand. Before that, however, he could recall the sight of that enderman surging forward, jaw unhinged, purple eyes flaring with the wrath of an ancient evil, vengeful and furious.

Gods, he’d _actually_ seen its eyes, and they, like the scar on his hand, had been burned into him, searing his brain with the image.

George, when he realized where his mind was going, tried to shake those thoughts by directing his attention elsewhere. He looked over to Dream, who...appeared just as uncomfortable as George, if not moreso. The wanderer was laughing weakly along with the others, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips as a hand rested gently on the back of his neck; his other hand came to adjust his mask once, twice, three times.

No one else seemed to notice.

George cleared his throat, willing away the mild anxiety that clenched it. “You know,” he said to the wanderer, “I guess you could say we’re even now.”

Dream’s downcast head perked up. “Huh?”

“You and I. We’re even. You saved my life, I saved yours.” George chuckled as he realized something. “Actually, if we’re being technical here, you owe _me_ now.”

“Wh-what?” Dream sputtered, nervous smile edging towards playful. 

“Yeah, I hauled you out of that fight back in Northwick, and you said we’re halfway even. So, basic math says that the ‘halfway even’ bit gets carried over. Hence, you owe me.”

Dream scoffed. “So we’re keeping score now?”

“If you want.”

“That’s really petty, George.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” George replied with a shameless grin.

The wanderer huffed in amusement. “I think ‘the list’ is enough to keep track of.”

“What’s the list?” Skeppy butted in.

“Not important,” George replied dismissively, continuing with Dream: “I don’t think we can even keep the list anymore. You butchered it.”

“I _improved_ it,” Dream tried to correct.

“You really didn’t.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

“Well, your opinion sucks.”

Dream put a hand to his chest. “Now that’s just hurtful.”

“Good, that was the point.”

“Fine then,” Dream decided, folding his arms with faux frustration. “We’re _shelving_ the list until further notice.”

George gaped at him. “You can’t do that, I made it!”

“Actually, I can. You handed ownership over to me yesterday. I can do whatever I want with it.”

“Ugh, _fine_ , whatever,” he relented, rolling his eyes. “Shelve the list, see if I care. But for the record, I’m still keeping score.”

“You do that, George.” 

The conversation was absurd, but it was the right kind of absurd George felt he needed at the moment - stupid, petty, and brainless in all the right ways. The utterly confused expressions on his friends’ faces made it all the more enjoyable. 

Their break continued on with no further mention of the prior day’s endermen encounter, which was a relief to George, if not for himself, then for Dream. Sure, George had been uncomfortable during that whole discussion, but the wanderer had definitely been edging dangerously close to panic attack territory, if the rubbing of his neck and fiddling of his mask was anything to go by.

Fundy finished wrapping up George’s hand sometime later and took the time to redraw the runes on George’s arm since they had faded somewhat since the previous afternoon. Food from their provisions pouch was passed to him as he shifted to sit closer to the stream. As per usual, Bad took out his fiddle and began to play some silly tune he’d pulled from his massive repertoire of tavern songs.

A minute of deliberating later, Bad had finally settled on a piece. He started on a sustaining note and went on from there:

_“Ooooooh, there was a bitter old man named One-Eye Jack,_

_“With hunched up shoulders and a twisted back,_

_“And he spent his days glaring at the youth downtown…”_

Sapnap - who George knew probably recognized the tune about two notes in, having learned it from Uncle Noah years ago - quickly jumped in.

_“Ooooooh, he muttered ‘bout this and grumbled ‘bout that,_

_“Denied the fact he was getting fat,_

_“And could kill a lad with nothing but his frown.”_

“Oh my Gods, that song is so _stupid_ ,” Fundy grumbled as Bad rocked his bow across the strings, playing the bridge.

At Fundy’s complaint, Skeppy was glad to join in as the next verse began:

_“Ooooooh, One-Eye Jack met a pretty lady,_

_“A toothless old woman named Sour Sadie,_

_“Who shared his knack for a foul, bitter mood…”_

Just to spite Fundy, who now had his hands over his ears, George joined in for the last few lines:

_“Soooooo, everyday, shine or rainy,_

_“They hobble downtown to call the children crazy,_

_“Both happy they found someone who understood.”_

As Bad played the last few notes, Fundy sighed with relief and dropped his hands. “Thank Gods that song is short.”

“Oh, I know more verses,” Bad told him, “but I’m feeling particularly nice today, so I won’t play them.”

“You really brought this on yourself, dude,” Skeppy pointed out, “You were the one who taught him how to play.”

Fundy dropped his chin into the heel of his hand. “And as I’ve expressed several times before, I’ll regret that day until the end of time.”

“But until then,” said Bad, plucking a few chords and grinning widely, “I get to terrorize you with music.”

“Turning my own teachings against me. The betrayal.”

“Bad has managed to weaponize music and at this point I’m not even surprised,” George deadpanned.

Bad hummed happily, spinning in a quick circle on his heel as he played a lively run. Then, he asked, “Do you know any songs, Dream?”

“Huh?” said the wanderer, looking up from his notebook. “Songs?... Yeah, a few, I think. I don’t really remember the words to any of them, but I can kind of recall the melodies. I’ve definitely recognized some of the songs you’ve played.”

“I’d imagine you’ve heard a lot during your travels.”

“I have. Mostly in taverns and festivals and such. I’ve never really taken the time to try to memorize any, though.”

“What about your hometown?” Fundy tried. “Anything from there?”

Dream seemed to think about it for a second, but he soon replied, “Well, yeah, but again, I don’t remember any of them very well. Ever since I was eighteen, I...haven’t stayed at home for very long periods of time. Too busy with work. I only ever came home when I was between projects or I happened to be passing by.”

“And now you’ve been on the road for how many months?” asked Skeppy, curious.

“About six, going on seven.”

“When do you think you’ll return home?” Sapnap said.

“Uh, well...” Dream rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, to be honest. Probably after the Aggression has ended. I’ll have to stop in for a visit or something.”

“How have you been keeping in touch with your family?” Bad inquired, rocking his bow across the strings idly. “I’m assuming by Screen, right?” 

“I - ” Dream’s words caught in his throat, and he winced as though it were physically painful. He exhaled in a rush of breath, “Can we change the subject?”

Bad stopped playing. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize - ”

“I-It’s fine, you’re - you’re fine,” Dream was quick to reassure with a shaky, sideways smile, holding up a calming hand. “You couldn’t have known.”

Sapnap shot George a significant look, but George just shrugged back. He wasn’t sure what to make of what Dream had said, and jumping to conclusions seemed especially dangerous at the moment. So instead of overthinking it (inner-soldier who wanted to figure out this little ‘problem’ be damned), George simply remarked, “I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that you’ve been traveling for almost seven months. Don’t you get tired of it?”

The wanderer’s tensing shoulders slackened minutely. “Not really. I like being on the road, I always have. I mean, even before the Aggression, I wasn’t too big on staying in towns. A lot of the time it was because there weren’t any towns around to begin with, or it was just too expensive, but being out in the wilderness is nice.”

“What’s the most interesting place you’ve been to?”

Dream took a moment to think that one over, eventually answering, “Well, the most _interesting_ place I’ve been to is definitely Feather Tree Woods, but I don't think I would go back there willingly. I went there once for a commission in February, and that was enough of Feather Tree to last me a lifetime.”

“Can you tell us about it?” Bad requested, putting his fiddle away in the saddlebags. 

Skeppy’s face lit up. “Ooooo, yeah, tell us a story!”

The wanderer laughed softly and seated himself in a more comfortable position beside George; the others shifted over to lean in, as if to hear the story better. 

“Uh, okay,” Dream began, looking up to the sky as he reached back in his memory, “let’s see…”

As it would turn out, Dream was a very good story teller if you could get him talking. Though, such a thing came as no surprise to George. The wanderer clearly valued his craft and took great pride in it, and a man as well-traveled as him would have a tale or two tucked away. He claimed to keep a meticulous record of all his journeys and commissions in various notebooks, storing them in what he called ‘The Northern Nook’: a little shack nestled somewhere in the birch forests along the Henzo River that served as a rest stop and a storage room, whose space he shared with a couple of other explorers like himself. However, he always carried his notebook of general information and blank pages with him wherever he went. None of them were able to decipher his tiny chicken scratch, but Dream was happy to read some of his notes and explain his diagrams.

There really wasn’t a place that Dream hadn’t at least passed through. His stories’ locations ranged from the sky-clawing mountains of the north to the marshes and jungles to the south past the Henzo river, and even beyond that into Middle and Southern Othana. He had mapped out every glade and thicket of Runica Forest and the neighboring plains, had sailed to the Shattered Isles just off the eastern coast, and could remember the barrens that marred the west. He spoke of quaint villages and bustling cities, stale dungeons and vine-ridden temples, sand dunes and lush, rolling fields. 

The wanderer recalled the creatures he’d found and the people he’d encountered. Names were not often put to faces, and interactions with the locals were either briefly touched on, glossed over, or completely left out since they hadn’t happened in the first place; but his knowledge on monsters and the land they dwelled in was unmatched.

And as the wanderer spoke, he was smiling, bright and wide and easy. His hands were never still, always gesturing out to convey some idea he’d had or some emotion he’d felt. There was an energy to his voice that George had not heard before, confidence he had yet to see.

So George believed Dream when he concluded a tale with, “I could talk about my discoveries for hours, it’s...something I really enjoy.”

“Clearly,” snorted Sapnap, his tone stuck somewhere between good-natured and sarcastic, and everyone chuckled in agreement. Leave it to a Smith to say what everyone was thinking.

The group had gotten back on the road a little while before, walking their horses two-by-two as the trail continued to widen. The forest was beginning to thin out; the Venz Grasslands were not too far away now. It being well past midday, the chilling bite of the morning had long since burned away, though it wasn’t quite as warm as George thought it would be. Through the autumnal canopy overhead, he noticed that there were some clusters of clouds drifting across the sky, and a breeze carried the smell of withering leaves and a seasonal coldness that nipped at his nose.

George smiled a little at the scent, wholly convinced that autumns in Runica Forest were the best in all of Othana. Thinking about it now, he asked Dream, “What’s your favorite place out of all the places you’ve been to?” 

Dream tilted his head to the side, genuinely examining the question for a moment. “The eastern coast,” he decided soon enough. “There’s a beach just south of where the Henzo pours out into the Great Ocean with some nice cliffs overlooking the water and a handful of portside communities where people don’t ask too many questions. Not only that, but because it’s right along the shore, there’s hardly any enderman activity. The villages are basically untouched by the Aggression.”

“Untouched by the Aggression,” Fundy echoed pensively. “It’s hard to think such a place exists.”

“There are a few locations in Northern Othana where the Aggression doesn’t have much of an effect. The marshlands, for one, though there aren’t many people living there to begin with. I’m sure there’s plenty of other places in Middle and Southern Othana, but I’ve stuck to Northern Othana for a majority of the Aggression.”

“Oh, what about way up north,” Skeppy suggested, “you know, past the Denrel Mountains where it snows almost all year ‘round?”

“The Attlepon Tundra, yeah. I haven’t made it up there since the Aggression hit, but I’d imagine they’re pretty unaffected. I was actually on my way up north when I ran into you guys. I’d been hoping to make it to Winterfeld via the Kavvern Pass before mid autumn. I should’ve gone in the summer when I wasn’t so pressed for time.”

“What’s wrong with now?” asked Sapnap.

“If I head north past the mountains too late in the year, I’ll be stuck there until spring. Kavvern Pass is too dangerous in the middle of winter.”

“You still travel during wintertime?”

“Yeah, but I usually stick to Middle and Southern Othana because of the snow. Northern Othana is still somewhat traversable if you stay south of the Henzo, though. Sometimes, the weather is good enough to visit the coast despite the cold water.”

Bad hummed pleasantly. “I’d like to see the coast sometime. Sounds lovely.”

Dream paused. “...It just occurred to me that you haven’t seen the ocean.”

“None of us have,” George told him, “except for Fundy. You went there with your parents for some supernatural stuff, right?”

“Yes, but that was years ago,” Fundy replied, twirling his charcoal pencil between his fingers. “I didn’t exactly get to do much sightseeing either. I was stuck inside listening to a conference on water breathing potions, turtle master potions, and fishing-related enchantments. It was about as interesting as it sounds.”

“That’s...that’s ridiculous!” Dream exclaimed. “Who goes all the way to the eastern coast and then _doesn’t_ go to the waterfront, or the beaches, or the ports?”

“Fundy and his folks, apparently,” Skeppy remarked flatly.

“You guys _have_ to go to the eastern coast - y-you have to see the ocean, it’s... _incredible_.”

“Not all of us are just able to pop off to the seaside on a whim,” said Sapnap bitterly; if he was bitter with Dream or bitter with his own inability to make the trek, George couldn’t tell. “We’ve got lives up in Northwick, jobs to do and a village to take care of. Traveling isn’t really a thing we do.”

“Sounds restricting.”

“It’s my life. I don’t think it’s _‘restricting’_ at all,” Sapnap retorted, making exaggerated air quotes.

“I take it you don’t have any plans of settling down, Dream,” said Bad, amused. 

Dream shrugged. “It wouldn’t make sense. I never stay anywhere long enough to warrant buying a house or an apartment; the closest I’ve ever gotten to one are all the Nooks I have around Othana, but I couldn’t really call them a home. Plus, I don’t have an interest in, like, finding anyone to settle down _with_. And even if I did, traveling is my livelihood. I’d never be home. What if my spouse missed me? Or, let’s say if I had children - what if my kids grew up barely knowing who I was? Or - or what if something bad happened while I was on the road, and I wasn’t there to help them?”

Though it was all hypotheticals, George was picking up on some genuine distress in Dream’s ramblings. George wondered if this was something the wanderer had thought about a lot. He claimed he loved to travel, but did any part of him actively wish to find a place of his own? Had he known at eighteen, when he started to explore for a living, that he would be leading such a lonely life? Because that was what it seemed to be to George - horribly, horribly lonely. 

George himself hadn’t found anyone yet, but he hoped to one day, and he knew that his friends felt the same. Additionally, he would like to stay in town, where his friends and family were. The people of Northwick were special to him. He couldn’t imagine living a life that was so isolated from...well, _everyone_.

Dream did, though, and he seemed to take great joy in it.

...It even sounded like the idea of settling down _scared_ him.

“So Bad, to answer your question,” Dream was saying, pulling George from his thoughts, “no, I don’t exactly have plans to settle down.”

“And you’re...fine with that,” said Sapnap. George could tell the smith was having a difficult time wrapping his head around the very thought by the furrow in his brow. Out of all of them, Sapnap was most explicit in his love for Northwick. George was almost a hundred percent sure Sapnap’s main reason for wanting to kill the Dragon in the first place was specifically to preserve his hometown and protect the people who lived there. No wonder such a concept would be hard for him to grasp.

Dream tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “Well, I am for the moment.” A pause rang through the conversation, and Dream heaved a tired sigh. “Look, I get that my lifestyle is unconventional - trust me, you’re not the first to think as much - but it’s what I’m good at and it’s what I enjoy. After all, I’m still...more or less in one piece after six years.”

“More or less?” echoed Bad. “What, are you missing a finger or something?”

“Is that why you wear gloves all the time?” George added with amusement.

Dream made a confused sound. “I -...wh-what? No, I’m not missing a finger - ”

“He hesitated,” Skeppy cut in. “He’s totally missing a finger.”

“I-I have all my fingers!”

“Prove it then,” Sapnap challenged. “Take off your gloves.”

“Ooooo,” said Bad, “hand reveal.”

Dream scoffed. “ _Hand reveal_?”

“Hand reveal, hand reveal!” chanted Skeppy.

The wanderer shook his head, unbuckled the straps around his wrists, tugged off the gloves, and splayed his hands demonstratively. “See? All ten fingers. Satisfied?”

“Immensely,” Fundy deadpanned.

“Well, that’s one less mystery,” George remarked playfully.

“What, that I have all my fingers?” asked Dream.

“No, that you have hands in the first place.”

_That_ startled a laugh out of the wanderer. “Pffft, _what_?!”

“If we assume I’ve never seen your hands before, then how can I know for certain that they exist?”

“Oh my Gods - ” said Dream, words cutting off as he broke into that ridiculous, wheezing laugh of his. “And you call _me_ the weird one…”

And with the so-called ‘hand reveal’ out of the way, the group refocused their attention on making it to Golesteria before nightfall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooo Golestiera lore!!! Bad and Skeppy have a Mysterious Past (TM), George's hand is getting better, and Dream nerds out about traveling for a solid half hour. It's a pretty chill chapter, but pretty long and very conversation-heavy, so I really hope I didn't put any of you guys to sleep lol. I had to set up some stuff that'll be important to the story later because things are about to get Complicated :)
> 
> Also, just a little peek at something that's gonna happen next chapter: Bad sings a sort of lullaby-ish song, and I actually came up with a melody for it :0 !!! So, with some help from my good friend ChaoticWonTon (you've probably seen her lurking in the comments, that little shit), it now has sheet music! Nothing super fancy, but I think it's v cute, and Chaotic has a far superior grasp on music theory than I do. (I've taken like a single class on it and I forgot all the basic chords TvT).
> 
> I'm currently trying to work out how I can convert it to an audio file that you guys can access so you can listen to it in case you don't know how to read sheet music. I'm probably just gonna make a version of it on a separate account on flat.io and give you guys a link. ((Just trying not to accidentally expose my personal account haha.))
> 
> Welp, that's all from me for now. Thanks for reading! Hope you have a good day/night :D


	18. An Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *vibing*  
> Upload day: he-ey! :D  
> Me: he-ey! :D  
> Me:  
> Me: whAT-
> 
> Did I just make a reference to a dead tik tok meme? Yes. Why? Because this is exactly what this Friday felt like. It just,,,completely snuck up on me lmao.
> 
> Anyway, new chapter woooooo!!! Not gonna lie, I don't really like how this chapter came out, but hey they can't always be winners, right? Just doing whatever's necessary to progress the plot so I can get into the more ~interesting~ stuff.
> 
> Okay, so quick recap for anyone who forgot what happened in the previous chapter: George and co spent the day traveling through the last of Runica Forest, having finally gotten out of range of the worst of the Endomain. We learned that Bad and Skeppy used to live in Golestiera and ran away from the city for unknown reasons. They have a contact in the city by the name of "Mega". Through Mega, they've gotten in contact with the head of Golestiera's Nether Department, Director Iskall, and have a plan to obtain access to the Nether portals with Iskall's help. (If this is confusing, I recommend you go back and read Skeppy's explanation - it's complicated.) As usual, Dream is reluctant to share any information about himself and his history - specifically his family, in this case - but is happy to prattle on about exploring the wilds of Othana. 
> 
> I don't think I forgot anything important lol. Hope you enjoy!

The Runica Forest finally gave way to the Venz Grasslands an hour into the second half of their ride. Rolling fields of tall grasses, berry bushes, wild flowers, and tree clusters stretched out before them, and settled comfortably just in front of the horizon was the shadow of the redstone superpower itself, the biggest city this side of the Henzo. It was difficult to spot; Golestiera was still a good distance away, but it stuck out just enough in the relatively open area to be seen. It dwarfed the faint outlines of other villages and settlements scattered around it, as well as the ones that lined the Main Road leading up to the city. Like George had noticed while walking through Runica Forest, the sky wasn’t as cloudless as it had been the past few days, the weather being almost ‘overcast’ but not quite. If it had been a clearer day, he wondered if he could see the Idelon Woodlands - the birch and oak forests that straddled the Henzo River.

They rode through the grasslands for another hour until they decided to dismount from their horses and walk for a bit to give the animals another break. Conversation was sparse, though George was content to find that there was no tension in the silence. Everyone seemed to be off doing their own thing, like Skeppy, who was rapidly typing on his Screen, most likely chatting with Mega; or Sapnap, who was drumming an absentminded beat on the side of his steed’s saddle, looking down at the wildflowers underfoot; or Bad, whose gaze hadn’t left the looming figure of Golestiera for several minutes now.

Though, it would appear as though Bad wasn’t the only one watching their surroundings, as Fundy suddenly spoke up a couple hours into their walk - “Hey, what’s that over there?” - and pointed off to the group’s right.

George, who had been walking to his horse’s left, had to switch sides and stand beside Dream to see what Fundy was talking about, though it didn’t take him long at all to spot it. Peeking out from behind a grove of trees was a dark spot of ruin and decay. It took him a moment to register the inorganic shapes amid the destruction as...house foundations... 

Dream briefly referred to his map. “That would be Fair Meadow Village, if I’m not mistaken.”

Skeppy looked up from his Screen, and his eyes went wide. “Wait,  _ that’s _ Fair Meadow?”

“What’s left of it, yeah. It got plowed over by an enderman horde.”

“But...wait, but…” Skeppy sputtered, trying to figure something out. “Fair Meadow was a little farm town protected under Golestiera, why is it…?” His head swiveled over to Dream. “That’s gotta be recent.”

“Uhhh… Here, George, hold this for a second.” Dream handed his map off to George, who took it so that the wanderer could pull his notebook out and begin to finger through the tabs and flip through the pages, muttering nonsense under his breath as per usual. Eventually, he came to the section he was looking for, ran a finger down the page, and said, “I came across Fair Meadow’s remains on June seventh and estimated the date of the enderman attack as three days prior to my finding it, so...June fourth.”

“ _ June _ ?!” Skeppy nudged Bad with his arm, causing the preoccupied captain to look over to him. “Bad, are you hearing this?”

“I - yeah, it’s horrible,” Bad agreed earnestly. He gazed upon the decrepit shadow of Fair Meadow, and his lips pursed in a fine line. “Although...Mega  _ did _ say that Zero Town closed off completely back in April.”

“I never thought they’d give up Fair Meadow, though!”

“Hold up,” Sapnap cut in, eyebrows furrowed together, “if it’s a farm town, then wouldn’t they get their food from there?”

“Exactly my point! They’re jeopardizing their food supply! They couldn’t abandon Fair Meadow unless they…” The redstoner trailed off, jaw slack with realization.

“Unless they what?” George pressed.

“...Unless they built their own farms within Zero Town itself.” He put a hand to his forehead, pushing back his bushy hair. “ _ That’s _ why they’ve been so focused on farming tech for the past few months.”

“Like those flying machines you mentioned a few days ago?” recalled Fundy.

“Yeah.” Skeppy exhaled heavily. “Ooooooh, all those weird projects Mega’s been telling me about suddenly make a whole lot more sense. I just assumed Zero Town was going through another one of its ‘phases’, like when all the government buildings were being installed with three-by-three meter piston doors… But  _ Fair Meadow _ , dude. It’s such a sweet little village. I mean, I only ever got to go there once, but the people were so nice, and…” He shook his head, making a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “It didn’t deserve that.”

“...It was destroyed well over three months ago,” Bad recalled thoughtfully. “Dream, do you think there are still endermen there?”

“No, I doubt it. By now, it’s probably been picked clean, so it’d be little more than a dead end.” Dream paused, then said slowly, “...Why do you ask?”

Bad didn’t respond right away. Instead, he glanced back and forth between the distant profile of Golestiera and the remains of Fair Meadow. Finally, he announced, “I say we check it out.”

George saw Dream flinch at the suggestion. “What? Why?”

“Yeah, Bad,” added Fundy, eying the village ruins, “not gonna lie, that seems a little random. It’s completely off our current course. Going to Fair Meadow would add a good deal of time to our traveling today.”

“It’s not that far from us,” Bad replied evenly, “right, Dream?”

Dream took his map back from George, looking between it and the village. “Er, no, it’s...not. I’d say it would take us maybe a little under thirty minutes to walk all the way over from where we are now, and from there, we could just cut across the fields straight to Golestiera, so in terms of walking, it would add…less than a hour, that’s for sure.”

“Then that means we can still make it to Zero Town well before sundown, even with a detour.”

“But  _ why _ ?” asked George. “I’m all for paying respects to the dead, Bad, but it’s still a little out of our way.”

“It’s about more than just honoring the dead.” Bad turned himself to better address the group. George could see the way his posture changed, and he knew just by the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his chin that he was going to say something to them as their captain. 

His eyes fell upon the wanderer. “Dream, you said a couple days ago that we didn’t understand the gravity of the Aggression because we hadn’t had a chance to see the full extent of it.” The captain addressed the rest of them. “This, I think, is our chance to understand. And even then, it might be ‘a little out of our way’, but it really isn’t too much of a burden on ourselves to stop in and pay our respects. It’s the least we could do for such an isolated community. I doubt they’ve had very many visitors, if any at all.” 

George frowned at that, but he had to admit, Bad had a point. If he were in the same position as the people in Fair Meadow, he would want someone to come visit his old home to make sure he wasn’t entirely forgotten. It didn’t matter that none of them had personally known anyone who lived in Fair Meadow.  _ “A Soul is still a Soul,” _ he could remember his mother saying whenever they stopped by other tombstones during their visits to his father’s grave. 

(He did not think about the site of her death, neglected by her only son who still had the audacity to carry her bow. He did  _ not _ .) 

George knew that Sapnap and Fundy had grown up with the same ideals, honoring the deceased - regardless of your affiliation to them in life - being an important part of Wickan culture. He also knew that both Bad and Skeppy had grown up on similar teachings from all the Guard memorials they had consistently attended in Northwick over the years, even the ones where Bad was not necessarily required to make an appearance as a captain. They must’ve practiced similar traditions in Golestiera.

Though, George barely had a clue as to where Dream came from. He definitely grew up on the Legends of Old, just like the rest of them, but which Legends  _ exactly _ ?

Well, whatever his beliefs were, the wanderer said, “If you guys really want to go to Fair Meadow, then I won’t say or do anything against it - but I’m staying outside.”

“Why?” said Sapnap, eyeing him.   


Dream folded his arms and ran his hands along the sleeves of his coat, as if cold. “Ruined villages give me the creeps.”

“You scared?”

“No,” Dream answered stiffly. “I just don’t like them.”

The smith’s mouth set into a tight frown. “Enough to just completely skip out on paying respects?”

“Alright, lay off, Sapnap,” George cut in. He could blame Uncle Noah for this one. Honoring the dead has always been cardinal to the people of Northwick, but the Smith household had always been...well, for lack of a better word, aggressive about it. And of course they weren’t the only ones in Northwick who shared the same passion for their traditions, but it had to be acknowledged. George could remember how, when he turned eighteen and officially joined the Wickan Guard, Uncle Noah had spent a long while not-so-subtly nudging George in the direction of a proper trip to Pillager’s Barrow. It took quite a few months of George resisting or straight-up ignoring Uncle Noah’s suggestions until the man got the message.

George had been raised by a lieutenant of the Wickan Guard; and if those in the Guard - who risked their lives on the daily and paid for it in the worst way possible - approached the time-tested tradition with the same fervor as people like the Smith family, then they would never find peace. 

(And then there was George, with his own tangled mess of a forsaken tradition. Over the years, he had found that the practice of honoring the dead starts to feel a little different once you’ve had to honor someone you’d known, someone you look up to.) 

“George - ” Sapnap started, but George cut him off with a sharp, frustrated look, seeing no need for words. The smith glanced away a beat later, admonished, a hand that hung at his side curling and uncurling.

“It’s nothing like that,” Dream eventually assured Sapnap. “Trust me, I would go in and pay respects if I could. I’m just not comfortable going into one of those villages… I’ve been in one too many.”

“Someone will have to stay behind with the horses anyway,” Fundy commented. “I don’t think we should lead them through the village, there’s bound to be debris. One of them might get hurt.”

“I guess…” Sapnap mumbled, hardly sounding convinced in the slightest.

“Are we all in agreement, then?” asked the captain. When he received a series of nods from the rest of them, he concluded, “Alright. Let’s head to Fair Meadow.”

Moving at a steady pace, it took them a little over half an hour to walk all the way over to the front gates of the ruined village, though to call them front gates would be a bit of an overstatement. Even before they had been plowed down by an enderman horde, the entrance clearly hadn’t been much, just a single threshold with simple fences feeding out the sides to surround the fields and a tattered townsign and emblem posted on the front of the archway. 

Hanging off the bottom of the townsign was an additional little board with a symbol of its own. It was a side profile of a hand, gently cupping a mound of red powder that slid between its fingers in crimson ribbons, a mirage of purple as a backdrop: the Golestieran crest. It took George a second to make out the image, however, as the emblem had been defaced by vicious slash marks. 

They continued on, taking a dirt road worn in by horse hooves and cart wheels. It made a straight line to the residential area of the little farming community, once surrounded by high stone walls. Only the barest of foundations of those walls remained, the singular indication that they had existed in the first place.

The moment their group got within fifty meters of the ruined walls, Dream stopped dead in his tracks. George and the others halted as well, looking back at the wanderer for some sort of explanation.

Dream just shook his head; this was as far as he could go, it would seem. 

Bad led his and Skeppy’s horse over to Dream, took a lead from the saddle bag, clipped it to the bridle, and held it to him. “We won’t be long,” the captain promised.

George saw Fundy follow Bad’s example, clipping his own horse’s lead to the bridle and bringing her over to the wanderer, who took the rope in his hands. As George was fishing the lead to his and Dream’s horse out of their own saddle bags, he noticed that Sapnap wasn’t doing the same. Instead, he was staring down the final stretch of the road, through the town borders’ ruins and into the village itself. The hand at his side continued to flex with anxiety.

“Sapnap?” George asked.

His friend turned around to face the rest of the group again, eyes skittering over them until they settled on Dream. His lips pressed together, his reluctance nearly tangible. “I don’t know how I feel about leaving Dream alone with the horses,” he commented tersely.

“He helped with the horses back in Juno,” was Bad’s steady reply. “He can handle them well enough.”

Sapnap drummed his fingers on the side of the saddlebags. “That’s not why I’m worried...”

Dream seemed to understand immediately. “I don’t have any intentions of leaving with your stuff.”

“And how do  _ I _ know that?”

The wanderer scoffed lightly. “I can name at least five instances off the top of my head where I could have easily walked away with the supplies and didn’t. I’m clearly not going anywhere.”

“The fact that you can quickly think of five times where you could’ve stolen our stuff doesn’t exactly instill me with confidence, man.”

“I’m just trying to make a point,” Dream argued, lips crinkling downwards. “That doesn’t mean I actually thought about doing it.”

Sapnap huffed. “Look, I don’t know you - ”

Dream tilted his head back with a groan, and George got the impression he was rolling his eyes. “Oh,  _ this _ shit again - ”

“ - and you haven’t told us a damn thing - ”

“ -  _ just _ when I thought this wasn’t gonna be an issue - ”

“ - about what the hell you want out of this - ”

“ - for fuck’s sake - ”

“ - and to be honest, Dream, you didn’t sound  _ all that enthusiastic _ about the plan when Skeppy was giving you the rundown this morning.” Sapnap took a half step forward, setting his shoulders and challenging, “Why should I believe that you’re not gonna change your mind and just dip out with the supplies while we’re gone?”

“Because I want the Dragon dead,” Dream grit out, “and separating myself from the only people in Othana who have the same goal would be counterproductive - is  _ that _ good enough for you?”

“But  _ why _ do you want to kill the Ender Dragon?”

“Does it fucking matter - ?”

“Okay, this is stupid,” George cut in, rubbing his head to stave off the headache that was Sapnap’s pushiness. “We’ve had this argument, it didn’t end well, and this is getting us nowhere.”

The captain exhaled, seemingly tired. “Sapnap, I get that you’re worried, but there’s no reason to bring up something we already agreed wasn’t relevant.”

“Plus you’re, like,  _ completely _ overlooking the fact that this has a super obvious solution, dude,” Skeppy commented.

“Which is…?” prompted Sapnap.

Skeppy hooked his thumbs on the sides of his belt and shrugged. “If you think Dream’s gonna dip out with the supplies, then we’ll just leave someone else here with him. There, problem solved.”

Dream folded his arms and muttered something about not needing a babysitter.

“Everyone should have a chance to honor the deceased,” Bad objected, “and the whole point of this is to get to see the results of the Aggression for ourselves.”

“If that’s the point, then I should stay,” Fundy offered matter-of-factly. “Besides Dream, I’m the one who’s most familiar with the Aggression. I’ve read the original legends, I know what it entails. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with me drawing the Runes of Remembrance out here rather than in there. I’m not missing out on anything.”

George looked at the blackened remains of Fair Meadow, saw the devastation that had been brought upon the small, unsuspecting village. _Yeah, you’re not missing out on anything_ at all _…_

And there was also the fact that Fundy and Dream weren’t exactly...on the best of terms. George didn’t know how Dream regarded the scholar at the moment, but he wouldn’t expect Dream to want to spend an extended period of time alone with Fundy. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like the wanderer had much of a choice. Sapnap wouldn’t willingly spend five minutes alone with Dream, Bad wanted to head into Fair Meadow the most out of all of them, Skeppy wasn’t about to let himself be separated from Bad anytime soon, and George felt like he had the responsibility of seeing for himself what it meant to be ruined by the Aggression. Fundy was the only one willing to stay behind.

_ Maybe it’ll be good for them, _ George silently hoped as they all agreed with the arrangement, Dream himself offering a small but steady nod. Fundy and Dream had been amiable - possibly even  _ friendly _ \- with each other before the incident at the riverbed threw a wrench in it. Perhaps they could make an attempt at sorting out whatever it was that had come between them. 

But George, as he finally handed his horse off to Dream, didn’t miss the tell-tale hand cupped around the back of the wanderer’s neck. Before he left, George thought back to the near-anxiety attack at the gates of Juno Settlement and decided to offer a careful squeeze on Dream’s arm in a way that he hoped came off as reassuring. A flicker of gratitude pulling at the corners of Dream’s pursed lips was all the response he got. Satisfied with that for now, George gave one last look to Fundy, turned, and joined the others as they entered the heart of Fair Meadow Village.

  
  
  
  


Considering the fact that it was technically peacetime in Othana, George could safely say that in the years he had been part of the Wickan Guard, he had never experienced war. Sure, Northwick had its political allies and its ‘neutrals’, but nothing more than skirmishes over land disputes had erupted between the town and its neighbors. Occasionally, farms or mining camps were overrun by monsters, or a smaller settlement fell victim to the creatures of the night and required assistance, meaning the Guard would be deployed to fight off the hordes of monsters in what was often a long, bloody battle. But, since George was thirteen, there had been no serious conflicts in Northern Othana.

He wondered if this was what war looked like.

No home, tree, road, or structure of any kind had been spared from the devastation. Roofs were caved in and windows were shattered. Carts lay overturned and abandoned in the chaos, wheels rusting. George could see where the endermen had torn through doors and knocked in walls, claw marks trailing through the dirt paths like jagged snakes. Sweeping slashes marred the structures that remained, accented by the ashen darkness the flames of the fire had left behind.

He should have known there would be bodies, should have mentally prepared himself for it. That didn’t stop the spike of fear and revulsion at the first charred corpse his eyes found. He gasped softly and instinctually averted his gaze. He had come across dead bodies before - not as many as the older officers of the Guard, but enough. He was taught that a good way to keep your head on your shoulders and the contents of your stomach where they belonged was to keep your eyes forward and take deep breaths, just until you could get your mind in the right headspace to handle such atrocities. 

When Sapnap saw the cause of his distress, he swore under his breath and grabbed George’s wrist to pull him back, as if to shield him from the cadaver. In fact, everyone in the group stopped walking, taking in the first evidence of human casualties they had found. 

George soon learned, as they continued through Fair Meadow, that the body they saw was the first of several others. He knew they got lucky, though. Most of the remains were unrecognizable due to the fire. It could have been far,  _ far _ worse. 

When they came to what looked like a major residential road, they began to spread out some so they could offer their respect in their own way, though they were sure to stay within sight and easy access of each other; there was no telling what monsters could have made their home in this hellscape, though the stale silence in the air told George that they probably wouldn't be running into much of anything that was alive or undead. When George was sure that he was a little more prepared to face this dark reality, he drew in a breath, forcefully quelled his racing thoughts, and lifted his head, shoulders set. With Sapnap at his side, they moved about the ruins, taking it in.

Honoring the departed took many forms. Those who were religious murmured prayers; those - like Fundy - who believed in and studied long-dead magic sang the Old Hymns and wrote the Runes of Remembrance; and everyone else simply took the time to acknowledge the fact that there had been another person in this world, and that person once had a life of their own, and now they no longer existed, and that, in and of itself, was reason to mourn.

Every life, every Soul, had value; everyone deserved to be remembered by the living. That was the bottom line. 

As they continued onward, George began to get a feel for the people of Fair Meadow. The town was nothing special, just another quaint little farm village in the rural regions of Othana, but it possessed its own sort of vibrancy and character. No two houses had been the same, and the random placement of plant life - or what remained of it - told George that each household had had a garden of its own design, cared for by those who had once resided there. 

With few walls left standing, seeing into the houses was easy. Almost everything of value had been plucked from the ruins, but George noticed countless tables, chairs, cabinets, sofas, fireplaces, dressers, beds, nightstands, rugs, blankets, lamps, lanterns...the fixings of a true, well-loved home.

_ People had lived here once.  _ The thought popped into his head more than once as they explored, and it felt rather redundant. Of course people had lived here. This was a village. People lived in villages. George knew that. So why did it matter so much?

George stuck by Sapnap as they decided to branch off a little farther from the others to more closely investigate one of the homes. There was nothing particularly interesting about it, but they stepped over the collapsed garden fence and walked up to the porch regardless. There was a slouching oak tree adorned with ashen leaves and fire-licked bark providing shade to a loveseat in the front yard, the green cushions rotting away. A bed of rose bushes lined the edges of the garden. They wilted in neglect. 

_ People had lived here once,  _ came the thought again. George inched ever closer to Sapnap as they tread up the porch steps and into the abandoned home. 

The two of them picked through the rubble blocking the foyer so they could step into the main room. Wallpaper hung crisped and peeling, decorated in ash. From the shattered dinner plates and scorched silverware scattered about the broken-legged dining table, the people residing here had most likely been eating a late supper when the horde struck. By the state of the overturned chairs, they had left in a hurry. 

Sapnap turned towards the kitchen - “Oh,  _ fuck _ \- ” and stiffened. 

“What?” George whispered, whipping around to follow his friend’s line of sight, and he saw it. Peeking out from a pile of stone and wood was a hand: skeletal, blackened, decayed…

Small. Much smaller than George’s own. 

...It came to him slowly, like how a gentle darkness washes over a valley when a cloud drifts over the sun. To see, with his own two eyes, the loss of a youthful life among the chaos that plagued their land tethered him to the moment and dispelled any sense of distance he had unknowingly put between himself and the crisis. To know intimately that this child was among countless others turned his blood cold. To realize with shocking clarity that there were dozens upon dozens of other towns like Fair Meadow that lay rotting and forgotten in their graves was enough to make him want to hurry back to Northwick, if only to be sure that his own home was still standing. 

_ People had lived here once. And now they don’t. _

He looked at that tiny scorched hand, outstretched in a desperate plea; he thought of that tiny hopeful hand, outstretched with a little offering for his quiver resting in its palm, bright eyes and a naive smile peering up at him.

Dream has been right to lose his temper the other day. He had been right to say they didn’t understand.  _ No one  _ could understand something like this without witnessing it for themself. 

One look at Sapnap’s face told George that he was having similar thoughts.

George put a hand to the wall, felt the ash rub off onto his fingers. He saw Sapnap mirror the motion, dropping his head and briefly closing his eyes. George had seen him do the exact same thing at every memorial they’d ever attended together. The motion was rehearsed, something instinctual, years of growing up on the same teachings hardwiring the smith to automatically bow himself to the memory of those who had passed on. George, on the other hand, had been raised to regard the tradition as something calm and simple, and he was a little more conscious of his decision to lower his head to the departed. To him, it was personal in a way that not many could claim to know. 

Sapnap’s relationship with Wickan traditions of honoring the deceased had always been dissimilar to George's own. But it didn’t matter. In the end, the same promise was made between themselves and the departed.

_ You will not be forgotten _ .

Wordlessly, numbly, he and Sapnap left the remnants of the home behind, but not the image of that little hand reaching for a savior that never came.

They didn’t go into any other houses after that, but they still continued to investigate the rubble piled up on the side of the road. They found a few more bodies of victims. George made note of them, bowed his head, made the same little promise, and carried on. At some point, he looked up at Sapnap just to get a read on his friend’s face and commented in a whisper, “Are you alright? You’re looking a little pale.”

Sapnap drew in a breath and looked to a vacant spot in the middle of the road. “It’s...a lot.”

George realized that Sapnap, while he was no stranger to bloody conflicts, was certainly new to human casualties. “Do you need to sit down for a minute?”

  
“Maybe, yeah.”

George brought him over to a spot along the side of the street that was mostly clear of rubble and far from any of the cadavers, and they had a seat. Sapnap pressed in close and immediately dropped his head onto George’s shoulder, releasing a shuddering breath. George counteracted Sapnap’s weight with his own and looped a hand around to gently grasp his friend’s arm in an attempt to ground him.

“I feel sick,” Sapnap mumbled after a moment, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

George gave a slow nod. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nauseous too,” he answered truthfully. “It’s not easy to look at.”

“No...it’s not.”

They didn’t say anything else on the matter. Words didn’t feel right nor necessary in the moment. Sapnap closed his eyes at some point, though if he was hiding from or processing the reality laid out before them was a mystery. George just let his gaze trickle over the broken banisters and crumbling pillars, taking it in while simultaneously staving off the growing dread that was spreading its icy roots into his bones.

Dream had said he’d seen one too many of these Aggression-razed towns. No - he’d said he’d  _ been in  _ one too many. How many was one too many, though? What finally made him stop investigating the villages for himself? Had he witnessed something that finally made him stop? Or had he just decided one day that he’d had enough, and he swore off exploring the ruined villages on principle alone? 

George, personally, thought that one village was enough. Honoring the deceased was still important to him, but he didn’t think he could bring himself to look at another village like this one. Maybe he would when this was all over and Othana was on the mend.

Sometime later - could have been hours, for all George knew - Bad and Skeppy came into view. The redstoner had Bad’s hand in a tight grasp, dark eyes down at the ground like Sapnap’s had been. Meanwhile, Bad wore a complicated expression. It looked like he was putting on a brave face, and to be honest, it was half-convincing. It was a similar expression to the one the captain used when trying to get his soldiers in line back in Northwick - impassive and stony, heavily practiced. It was little more than a mask, though; George could see right through it.

“Are you two alright?” Bad asked.

“I think so,” George replied for the both of them. “Just needed a minute”

Bad nodded gently. “Are you ready to leave? Anywhere else you want to see?”

“Not me. Sapnap?”

“No,” answered his friend, barely more than a murmur. 

“Okay.” Bad squeezed Skeppy’s hand. “We should be going, then.”

George stood first, offering a hand to Sapnap, and they started back in the direction they’d come from. George watched as they passed by the same ruined houses, each one built by different hands, each one bearing a story of its own. He wondered if he should have visited at least more than one house while they were there. There were just so many people in Fair Meadow who deserved to be acknowledged and known, but George was only one person, and to take on the responsibility of countless other Souls would most definitely crush him. 

His mother had told him that there was no right way to pay homage, in spite of what Uncle Noah seemed to think. George hoped that she was right, for more reasons than one. 

No one made an attempt to fill the stifling silence as they made their way back to the border walls. When they rounded the last corner and came to the front, George caught sight of Fundy standing in the middle of the road, a rotted wood post torn from the remains of the farms’ fences held in his grasp. He dragged one end of it through the dust and dirt, carving Galactic into the earth. George recognized it as the Runes of Remembrance, very old runes with a distinctly spiral shape to the structure of the words rather than the usual blockish formation he was more familiar with. He didn’t know anything about what they said, only that they corresponded with the Old Hymns recited in the Legends of Old. 

Dream, meanwhile, stood by the horses and wrung the leads in his hands as he watched the scholar decorate the ground with ancient prayers. He shifted from foot to foot, seemingly incapable of standing still with the village ruins looming just fifty meters away.

George and the others were careful to watch their step as they walked around the work of art Fundy was putting the finishing touches on. Dream realized belatedly they had returned, startling when Bad stepped up to him to offer to take back his horse’s lead. He nodded stiffly and handed the rope to Bad, who uttered a thanks and went to unclip it from the horse’s bridle. Sapnap took his horse’s lead back as well, not saying a word, just taking the rope when it was offered to him. Fundy, who had finished the Runes of Remembrance, dropped the old fence post on the side of the road and took his horse back as well.

George took the lead to his and Dream’s horse from the wanderer, and as he did so, he noticed something. Dream had his gloves off, and on the back of his right hand, a trio of Galactic runes had been drawn with a charcoal pencil. 

George looked up at Dream, who definitely knew that George had noticed the little symbols by the way he stared right back at the archer, as if caught. In a way that looked like he was trying to be casual, he pulled his gloves from where he’d tucked them into his coat pocket and tugged them on, fiddling with the straps around his wrists. 

George, as he unclipped the lead from their horse’s bridle, briefly thought of asking Dream if he and Fundy had talked about what happened at the riverbed, but the wanderer clearly didn’t want to discuss it at the moment. Though George was willing to bet that they did, anyway. Whenever Fundy spoke with one of them about something he’d done, it always came with some sort of Galactic rune drawn on their arm, or hand, or coat sleeve, or weapon, or tool. He used his doodling habit as his way of apologizing, George figured. He couldn’t quite remember when Fundy picked up the quirk. It had always been something he just  _ did _ , like playing the fiddle.

So instead, George asked, almost conversationally, “Do you know what they say?”

Dream, who had tensed up considerably since George noticed the runes, deflated from relief. “Uh, no,” he replied, “I don’t know these ones...and he didn’t tell me.”

George huffed a laugh. “Sounds like him.” He bundled up the lead and put it in the saddlebag. “I’m guessing you can’t read much of the Runes of Remembrance either, can you?” he added, nodding his head at the pictures in the dirt.

Dream shook his head. “They’re way different than any runes I’m familiar with. They look cool, though.”

“They do.”

George came around to the other side of their horse with Dream so they could get ready to mount, but George caught sight of Bad regarding the group with that same look on his face and that same posture as earlier, like he was going to say something important. He didn’t stand alone, though, Skeppy pressed lightly into his side, arms folded as he scuffed his boots over the dirt.

The captain waited until he was certain he had everyone’s attention. Then, he spoke: “I feel like we should understand that things are going to be different soon. We’ll be in Golesteira by nightfall, and when tomorrow morning comes, we’ll be officially working towards opening the End Portal. We have to be mindful of our decisions and our actions from here on out.”

He motioned to the corpse of Fair Meadow. “ _ This _ is what we’re trying to put a stop to;  _ this _ is what we’re trying to prevent more of. I know that things haven’t exactly gone according to our original plan, but whenever we run into some sort of struggle, or conflict, or roadblock, we should remember this place, what it means, and what we have to do.

“But we can’t do this divided.” Bad exhaled, glancing away briefly. “I’m a bit of a hypocrite myself for saying it, but we have to be willing to trust each other, to rely on each other, and to be willing to help each other. There is a lot at stake right now. If we let something come between us, and we make a mistake because of it, we won’t get a second chance.”

George didn’t miss the way the captains eyes honed in on both Sapnap  _ and _ Dream. He thought that Bad would’ve targeted Sapnap alone, but trust was a two way street, George supposed. While George knew trying to force Dream to talk about himself and his past would be counterproductive, maybe if the wanderer himself would be willing to offer bits and pieces,  _ something _ between him and Sapnap could be resolved.

“For the sake of Othana and everyone who calls it home, let’s not mess this up, alright?”

There was a ripple of agreements through the group, no one speaking above a murmur.

The captain nodded in return; George saw his hand tangle its fingers into Skeppy’s - which had fallen to his side - and squeeze tight. “Okay. Thanks, guys. Let’s go.”

One by one, they all mounted. Bad led them down the dirt road and away from Fair Meadow Village. 

It was quiet for a little while longer. George watched the fields of neglected farmland pass by, waves of withering wheat swaying in the breath of the grasslands. He wondered if any of the crops were still salvageable, if someone could potentially come back to this village and restore it. He was no farmer, but he knew that using an overabundance of bone meal to get crops to recover or grow faster was a common practice in times of poor yields. It was what Northwick was doing in order to get ready for the coming winter - or trying to do, anyway. It was difficult to get the materials needed for bone meal crop treatment when making multi-day trips out to the nearby Skelomain to farm for bones wasn’t an option.

Regardless, he mused if it were possible for a group of determined people to breathe life back into Fair Meadow, once this was all over. He hoped so.

Dream spoke up when they had passed through the gates at the end of the farmland, though he spoke quietly enough so that only George could hear. “Did you see everything you needed to see?”

“We did,” George whispered in reply. “It’s...horrible. I get why you wouldn’t want to go into one of those villages again. The endermen, they’ve just plowed over everything. You can’t even recognize some of the buildings, and the bodies…”

George shook his head, trying to dispel the images that threatened to reemerge. 

“It’s gruesome,” Dream agreed. “I can’t stomach them. I’ve been in one ruined village, and that’s about all I can take.”

George furrowed his brow. “I thought you said you’ve been to more.”

“No,” the wanderer answered, tone sorrowful, “I’ve only ever been in one, and unless I want to lose what I’ve got left of my sanity, I won’t go into any more. Whenever I see a village, I observe it from a distance, record it, and move on.”

George pursed his lips, debated with himself for several seconds, and finally said, “I have a question that I’m not entirely sure I should ask.”

Dream stiffened noticeably. “Is...is that so?”

“It’s not about you,” George clarified, “not - well, not  _ really _ , anyway. I was just wondering - do you know how many villages in Northern Othana there are that are...that are like Fair Meadow?”

“I have an idea, yeah.”

He hesitated. “...Do I want to know?”

The wanderer thought about it before replying carefully, “It’s probably best that you don’t.”

George did not like that answer in the least; he chose not to think about it too much.

Several more minutes of quiet passed, broken by nothing but the whisper of the afternoon breeze through the waist-high grass and the dull plodding of their horses’ hooves. George looked up to the sky to see that there was a little more cloud coverage than before, and occasionally the wind would bring a whiff of rain to his nose. He didn’t think the clouds would break while they were traveling - they were far too thin for that - but there would definitely be a bit of a shower tonight.

Sometime later, a few soft notes drifted over to George’s ears, and he turned to see that Bad had gotten his hands on his fiddle again at some point. He played idle tunes, most likely to fill the melancholy silence that had befallen the group. For a little while, it seemed like Bad was playing little melodies that he’d made up, humming nonexistent words to go along with them. But then a couple seconds passed, and George recognised the lullaby Bad hummed; a few more seconds, and he realized his lips were mouthing the words before he’d fully registered it. It tugged at his memory, pulling images from years long past. It had been quite a while since he’d heard it.

_ “Sweet love of mine, _

_ “Take my hand, _

_ “We shall dance across the sand, _

_ “And when the sun, _

_ “Melts from the sky, _

_ “Join me in morning, sweet love of mine.” _

Skeppy exhaled gently and rested the side of his head between Bad’s shoulder blades, staring off into the field with an absent expression. The captain continued his lullaby:

_ “Sweet love of mine, _

_ “The days are long, _

_ “I offer nothing but this song, _

_ “But I can say, _

_ “That we’ll be alright, _

_ “We’ll have each other, sweet love of mine.” _

Skeppy closed his eyes, pressing his face a little more into Bad’s back; Fundy shifted in his saddle, humming along with the melody as his gaze remained steadily on the back of his horse’s head. George himself continued to mouth the words without much thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sapnap doing the same.

_ “Sweet love of mine, _

_ “We’ve grown so old, _

_ “Watched every sunset, purple and gold, _

_ “And so you’ve left, _

_ “You’ve left me behind... _

_ “May you rest easy, sweet love of mine.” _

Bad continued to softly hum the melody and rock his bow across the strings, even after the song had ended. A special sort of quiet settled over them when Bad eventually stopped stringing together notes with his instrument. It instilled a sense of peace that George hadn’t thought he would be able to achieve that day after what he’d witnessed in Fair Meadow. He wondered how long the peace would last and if it would help him through the night. He didn’t expect to get much sleep, comfortable inn bed notwithstanding.

He soon noticed that Sapnap had positioned himself so he rode beside him and Dream. George had noticed throughout the course of their trip that Sapnap generally avoided being in close proximity to the wanderer. Even now, he was keeping his horse a little closer to their rear, putting him nearer to George, who rode in the back saddle. Still, he was beside them, and to George, that mattered.

Sapnap caught George’s eye, and they shared a long, significant look that spoke of many things, not all of which George could find the words for. Though, one thing he was certain of was the growing apprehension in his friend’s eyes, and it made something in George’s chest clench.

As far as anyone was concerned, Sapnap was George’s brother - George’s  _ little _ brother, if one wanted to go as far as that; and while George loathed to think of Sapnap as ‘his responsibility’, as Sapnap was extremely capable of taking care of himself, there was no denying that tiny,  _ tiny _ part of him that wanted nothing more than to shield his friend from the harsh realities of the world - from this rude awakening. 

But George swiftly reminded himself that this was what they agreed to all those weeks ago when Bad approached the two of them with this wild plan to slay the ancient evil. Sapnap had been just as eager to count himself in as George, if not moreso. Sapnap was strong in more ways than one. He could handle this. They both could. They  _ all  _ could.

Their horses had been strolling up an incline in the fields for a while now. They finally came to the crest of the hill and - 

The breath was snatched from George’s lungs. “Holy fucking…”

Stretched out before them was an expanse of rust and ruin carved across the Venz Grasslands like a vile scar. It was the remains of various villages - rest stops, markets, stables,  _ homes _ \- that lined the path leading up to Golestiera. The city itself rested on the far end of the wound, untouched and as grand as ever. It seemed to glimmer despite the feeble amount of sunlight peeking through the clouds.

Dream gestured outwards with a slow raise of his open palm. “This,” he said to them, “is why you can’t take the Main Road anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reality can sure be damning, huh.
> 
> I know this chapter is a little on the shorter side compared to the last few I've done, but don't worry, the next ones are gonna be l o n g. Strap in, folks. 
> 
> Anyway, here's a link to the flat.io sheet music for the song Bad sings, Sweet Love of Mine. Again, it's really not anything fancy, just a very simply lullaby. Tbh I should have used repeats and second endings to make the sheet music more concise but copy/paste is easier. Also, please tell me if the link doesn't work for some reason or if it won't let you play the recording. I tested it earlier, so it should work. Thanks again to ChaoticWonTon for helping me out with the arrangement. Luv ya broski <3
> 
> https://flat.io/score/6024c33331f41d5359933bd0-sweet-love-of-mine?sharingKey=bc26b88473bdd9b5226ecdcdda30451d97f6977cf6c47898e619ef1363bb8b693d0b1639a60e3a1ae471d5bd6ce8f0efdef5850119bf8325df3f26d8dc7c73cb
> 
> Completely random side note: Quackity shows up at the end of the Juno Settlement arc very very briefly (he's the one that tells Wilbur, Niki, and Tubbo that Tommy woke up from his coma), and originally I had Jack Manifold there but took him out and replaced him with Quackity for some reason?? Anyway I think I'm gonna go back and put Jack Manifold there again. It's really not that plot relevant but it just vibes better(?) I don't think Quackity will be showing up in any later parts of this story so it's not necessary but just,,,,,why not. None of you can stop me anyway. Just thought I'd tell you.
> 
> ((Also another random side note: I made a tiiiny error in the previous chapter and I edited it out but I don't want to say what the error was because it might(?) spoil some stuff later down the line so I'll clarify when it becomes relevant to the plot.))
> 
> tl;dr - Chaotic and I rubbed our two collective braincells together to make some sheet music, Quackity is now (probably) Jack Manifold in Juno, I made a little oopsie in the previous chapter but I fixed it so don't worry :)
> 
> Anyway, comments and kudos are much appreciated, thanks for reading! Have a lovely day/night, and I'll see you all again on Feb. 26th!


	19. City of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty folks, bit a of a note before we get started.
> 
> Originally, this chapter was supposed to be a massive nearly 14k word chapter, but you know that's really heckin long and exhausting to read all at once. Then, I realized that there was a pretty good spot where I could split it up into two more decently lengthed chapters. So that's exactly what I did.
> 
> HOWEVER! These two chapters go hand in hand, and I'd really hate to have you guys wait two entire weeks to get the other half when you were originally supposed to have both. That is why I will be uploading this chapter, City of Light, and the next chapter, Sleep Tight, back to back!!!! (I'm talking like, the moment I get this chapter uploaded, I'm gonna start working on getting the second half uploaded too.) Consider this a celebration for reaching Chapter 20 and a thank you from me to all of you for sticking around and being so kind and understanding. Seriously, y'all are the best <3
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

They steered clear of the Main Road upon Dream’s insistence, who explained that the strip of devastation was technically Endomain territory. They instead passed through the backfields and abandoned farm plots a little more than a quarter mile from the buildings. As they went, Bad hummed no tunes, and not a word was spoken. George choked on the acidic odor of charred, rotting wood that permeated through the fields. He could tell that these roadside communities had been dead for a while, but it was as if the smoke and ash had sunk into the ground, like a stench clinging to your clothes even after you wash it. The horses were uneasy as well, ears swiveling around in a manner similar to when they had been in the heart of the Endomain. 

Without needing to be prompted, everyone in the group lowered their masks one by one, just to be safe. Dream’s head remained turned towards the Main Road, alert as ever. George looked over to the ribbon of Endomain to the east every now and again, and once or twice, he was sure he had seen a flash of violet magic flickering between the houses. To settle his nerves, he told himself it was his imagination. 

Minutes ticked into hours, and George found the extended silence to be awfully, painfully familiar. At least this time, he could actually see their destination growing closer and closer with every passing moment.

They arrived at the gates of Golestiera as the sun was beginning to sink into the horizon, casting the Henzo River that ran behind the city in a warm glow. The massive gates easily reached two stories high, gilded in iron and gold. The city crest was emblazoned on the front, though the little waterfalls of redstone dust in the image seemed to trickle past the borders of the design to ‘pool’ at the bottom of the doors. If George squinted, he could make out Galactic runes running along the seams of the gates. The symbols were pressed into the metal, all straight lines and very few curves. He wondered if it was a stylistic choice, or if they honestly thought that was how the runes were to be written. He would have to ask Fundy sometime later.

The walls themselves - constructed of blackstone and reinforced with various other materials and metals - reached a little higher than the gates and stretched far out to either side, totally encompassing the city. George recognized some new additions to the fortifications: transparent pipes running down the evenly spaced dividers. The backs were lined with what appeared to be redstone lamps, causing the water flowing through the pipes to give off an almost ethereal shine. The flowing water would be seen at night just as easily as it would be seen during the day.

Well. That was  _ one _ way to keep the endermen out.

George could see iron golems lumbering around the base of the wall. Atop the wall, he spotted human guards patrolling in pairs, and he was fully conscious of all those wary eyes bearing down upon their party as they approached the gates. From what he had been able to gather, Golestiera was one of the most closed-off cities - if not  _ the _ most closed-off city - in Northern Othana at the moment. He hoped that their contact would be enough to get in.

Two guards stood at ground level in front of the gates, each decked out in the slim-fitting Golestieran uniform and gleaming armor. One drew his sword as they came closer, and the other narrowed her gaze at them.

“Halt,” the second guard commanded as soon as they got close; the group obliged. “State your business here.”

It was Skeppy who spoke up, to George’s surprise. “We’re a party of travelers looking to stay in Golesteria for a few days. We have a contact within the city.”

The guard brought up her Screen and began to scroll through, rapidly punching in data. “Are they a legal citizen of Golestiera?”

“Yeah, Bryan Sorra, goes by the alias ‘Mega’. He’s a redstoner. He should’ve put in an application for our entry tonight.”

The guard didn’t respond right away, still scrolling through her Screen. “I see an application for a party of five - no, six that matches that description. Are you the one in correspondence with your contact?”

“I am.”

“For verification, I’m going to need you to state your name.”

“Skeppy.”

The guard almost looked as though she wanted to roll her eyes. “Your  _ actual _ name. An alias isn’t enough.”

“Why not?” Sapnap spoke up, frowning at the guard.

“Golestiera prefers to work in real names,” the guard explained briskly. “While you all being registered on here under your aliases is fine, at least one person in your group has to verify. Usually, it’s the person who’s got the contact.” She looked to Skeppy expectantly. “So…?”

“Do I really  _ have _ to?” Skeppy whined.

The guard just stared at him, barely even bothering to quirk a brow.

Skeppy hesitated, then let out a reluctant sigh. “...Lathan Carr.”

Silence permeated through the air; Sapnap snorted.

The guard, meanwhile, was unamused. She ducked her head to look down at her Screen. “Alright, now, the rest of you?”

They went through their names - specifically their aliases - one by one, and she marked them off as she went. Once that was done with, she said to them, “Everything checks out, you’re all set.” She nodded to the other soldier, who sheathed his sword, turned towards the wall, put his fingers to his mouth, and let out a shrill whistle. A moment later, there was a rumbling thump from below. Massive hinges as tall as doorways creaked and groaned as pistons fired, and the towering gates were pried open just enough for them to pass through. The structure stilled with another reverberating thud that had their horses snorting and bobbing their heads with anxiety.

The guard dimmed her Screen and gestured to the opening. “Welcome to Golestiera.”

George saw Bad take a deep breath; Skeppy placed a subtle hand on the back of his shoulder, gentle and grounding.

“Thank you,” Skeppy said to the guard when Bad didn’t assume his usual role as leader and offer his own thanks.

A hint of a smirk pulled at the guard’s lips. “Of course, Mister Carr.”

Skeppy made a face as he took the reins from Bad’s slackened hands and gave his horse a little kick, starting off into the city. One by one, the others followed.

Upon entering, he and the others pushed their eye coverings away and tilted their heads up to take in the view.

Yes, George had been to Golesitera before, but the massive city never became any less wondrous each time he visited. The streets were alive with people bustling here and there, making their way between shops and offices, factories and apartments, playgrounds and parks. Other than pedestrians, the roads were occupied by an odd mix of horse-drawn vehicles, minecarts, and redstone machinery. Buildings reached several floors higher than the tallest structures in Northwick. Each was outfitted with evenly-spaced, perfectly square windows running across the walls in rows and columns. Everything seemed to shine and glitter as if it had been coated with gold and diamond dust. Colors from the countless redstone lamps bounced off windows and glass displays; sounds of the city ricocheted off the walls, creating an almost overwhelming din. The air here smelled of metal and undertones of the sharp, acrid stench of processed redstone dust. Unlike the fields they had just spent the past couple hours treading through, there was not a hint of smoke to be found - just redstone.

The only change George made note of within Golestiera itself would be the pipes. Like the walls outside, water pipes had been constructed to run along the buildings’ walls. They all fed into a system of much larger transparent pipelines built into the road itself. Like the pipes outside, lamps were lit under them, and the water flowed through at incredible speeds. There were also several small fountains fixed to the walls or built into lamp posts. Water ran over small ledges and stones, adding the babble of rivers and creeks to the cacophony of the city. It wasn’t an overbearing sound, but it was there, murmuring beneath every clop of a horse hoof, every shout of a street vendor, every clank of a redstone machine. No matter where their horses ended up on the road, the murmur was present.

The sound would’ve driven an enderman mad.

George tore his eyes away from the splendor of the redstone superpower to survey the group. Sapnap, to no surprise of George, was openly staring, mouth nearly agape. Fundy and Skeppy seemed to be observing it all with curious smiles, as they were far more acquainted with the city than the smith. Dream, however, did not share their enthusiasm, and George could practically  _ see _ the anxiety rolling off of Bad.

He understood why Bad would be uncomfortable, but Dream’s unease was confusing to George. Golestiera was probably the safest city in Northern Othana, perhaps even _ all _ of Othana, when it came to defenses against the Aggression. Why would Dream be scared?

“Where are we headed?” Fundy inquired after a brief pause while everyone took in the sights.

Skeppy prodded at his Screen. “An inn on the northern side of Zero Town, not far from Zero-Zero. Mega says the rooms run for cheap there.”

“Ugh, good. Shit gets expensive here really fast.”

“Tell me about it,” George remarked with a roll of his eyes. “One time, I was looking for a place to eat, and I found some ‘fancy’ restaurant that sold chicken kebabs for twenty emeralds a stick.  _ Twenty emeralds _ .  _ A stick. _ ”

“I want to say I’m surprised, but honestly, I’m not. Sounds like something you could find here.”

George chuckled his agreement. 

In the following lull in conversation, Sapnap spoke up. “So… ‘Lathan Carr’, huh?”

Skeppy threw his head back with a groan. “Uuuuugh, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“‘Lathan’,” Fundy echoed, drawing out the name as he tested the feel of it on his tongue; he twisted up his mouth, apparently not liking the feel of it at all. “What kind of name is ‘Lathan’?” 

George hummed. “It kind of sounds like you couldn’t decide between two names so you just…” He shoved his fingers between each other. “... _ smooshed _ them together.”

“Well,  _ sorry _ not all of us can have cool real names like ‘Emerson Livingstone’ or ‘Greggory Darkwood’,” Skeppy groused, rolling his eyes.

“Hold up,” Dream cut in, twisting his head back to look at George, “your real name is Greggory?”

George gave him a funny look. “Uh, yeah?”

“I thought...I thought your name was George. Like, your  _ actual  _ name, I mean.”

“Well of course it’s not,” George shrugged, confused by this. “You know that most people don’t go by their real names. Everyone uses aliases now - hell,  _ you  _ use one.”

“No, but like…‘George’ doesn’t  _ sound _ like an alias. It’s just a regular old name.”

“You do realize that not all aliases have to be flashy, right  _ ‘Dream’ _ ?”

Dream huffed out a laugh. “Alright, yeah, I get it. I just wouldn’t have ever guessed that you were under an alias.”

“I’ve always thought of it as something in between,” Fundy provided. “He treats it like a proper alias, but it’s a little too close to his real name to be a  _ full-on _ alias.”

“It doesn’t have the alias vibe,” Sapnap concurred with a nod.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Can we just agree that George has a cool real name and that we should do stuff under his name instead of mine?” Skeppy butt in. “I’ve already had enough embarrassment as it is. I don’t want to do that again.”

George grinned. “Sure thing, Lathan.”

Skeppy ran a hand down his face. “Oooooh, this is the wooooorst.”

“What about you, Bad?” Sapnap prompted. “Are we going to learn your embarrassing real name too?”

The question snapped Bad out of whatever meditative state he’d fallen into during the past few minutes. “Huh? Oh, uh, no, probably not,” he answered quickly.

The smith snorted. “Oh, it’s that bad, huh?”

“No, it’s - it’s not that,” replied Bad, taking the reins back from Skeppy. “Thing is, Dream wasn’t kidding when he said the Golestieran servers are really secure. They’re super heavily monitored, and a lot of formal purchases and exchanges get fed through the system under your real name, so it...makes it tricky to keep a low profile.”

“Low profile?” George echoed.

“Yeah, um…” Bad winced, appearing to debate with himself for a minute before continuing, “There are people in high places here that have access to the server records and...they can’t know I’m in Golesteria. If my name gets fed through the system, they’re sure to be notified. So, uh, just as a heads up, I can’t buy or register anything under my name while we’re here. It’s too dangerous for me, and for Skeppy,  _ and _ for you guys.”

The group fell silent.

“Well,  _ shit _ , Bad,” Sapnap blurted a moment later. “I know you said your situation in Golestiera was ‘messy and complicated’, but I didn’t think it was  _ that _ kind of ‘messy and complicated’.”

“Language,” Bad chided as usual, “but...it’s...yeah.” He pursed his lips, shoulders hunching up. “It’s not good, and I’d rather not discuss it further. I’ll explain in full at some point, I promise, but...just not right now.” He gazed around at the banners hung from the storefronts, the Golestieran emblem waving in the breath of the city. “...Not while we’re  _ here _ .”

And the topic was dropped.

The group went back to collectively ogling at the cityscape as Skeppy and Bad led them through the busy streets. Their steeds, unaccustomed to the constant clang and whirr of advanced redstone machinery, proved to be a lot less cooperative and a whole lot more fidgety, so they all eventually decided that it would be easier to dismount and lead their horses by the reins. They brought the animals to the side of the road in an attempt to put a little more distance between them and the heavier concentration of the machines. Their boots and the horse’s shoes clopped against the metal grates and smoothed cobble beneath their feet.

At some point, they headed under an overpass. When George glanced up, he saw a blur shoot through one of the concrete and glass tubes, the passengers safe inside a curved, narrow pod.

“Woah,” Sapnap breathed, watching the pod rocket into the distance. “George, the hell was that?”

“Those are the Iceways,” George told him. He drew a line in the air that traced the direction the tube took, adding, “They’re elevated highways that you can pay to take to get to the other side of the city without having to worry about all the traffic down here.”

“They’re so fucking  _ fast _ though.”

“Specially-treated, low friction rails; powerful and overly-efficient redstone engines; and lab-packed ice kept under meticulous temperature control,” Skeppy rattled off, grinning from ear to ear as he looked up at the tubes and watched another pod shoot by. “I was around when the Engineering Department started revamping the old Iceways. These are  _ so much _ better.”

A couple more pods rocketed through the tubes, and Sapnap laughed breathily, amazed. “Oh,  _ please _ tell me we’re gonna ride that at some point.”

“Well, I do need to go to the Eremita Library,” Fundy spoke up, “and that’s all the way over in the southern district of Golestiera. We could take the Iceways there.”

Sapnap pumped his fist. “Hell yeah!”

“Ooooo, yes, I wanna go on the Iceways,” Skeppy agreed, bumping playfully into Bad, who offered a smile. “I never got a chance to ride them again after they started working on - ”

“Woah, hey, hold up,” Dream warned them, shooting out an arm. They, along with the other pedestrians in the street, halted to allow a train of minecarts originating from a nearby warehouse to rattle along the sidewalk and cross the intersection. Each one was burdened with a small dark chest, locked and secured. The little vehicles chugged past, and they soon dipped into a tunnel in the ground. Once the carts were out of sight, the group of bystanders started moving again, George and the others along with them.

“Shouldn’t there be a warning sign or something?” Sapnap wondered, glancing at the rails over his shoulder as they crossed to the other side of the intersection. His startled horse snorted, seeming to agree.

“A general rule of thumb in Golestiera is to watch where you’re going,” George replied, glancing off to the sides as they carried on. “I’ve been almost run over more times than I can count.”

“And keep an eye on your belongings,” Dream provided bitterly, adjusting his mask and ducking his head slightly as they passed a large group of people. “Lost about fifty emeralds and a precious stone to a pickpocket once. The commissioner was pissed.  _ I _ was pissed. I’d just spent a solid week trying to find the  _ specific _ zombie that had run off with this one dude’s family heirloom, and I was literally just a ten minute walk from the guy’s house when some asshole came - ” Dream made a swift snatching motion with his arm - “and yoinked the pouch I had on my belt. A week’s worth of pay, gone like  _ that _ .” He snapped his fingers to accentuate his point.

“Why the hell did you have a precious stone just...hanging off your hip?” said Skeppy, giving the wanderer a baffled look. “Shouldn’t you have put it somewhere safer?”

“Well, yeah, probably,” Dream replied with a shrug. “It just made sense at the time. I mean, where else was I supposed to put it? My boot?”

“Your bag, dumbass,” Sapnap told him flatly.

The wanderer tilted his head at him. “See, that would have been the  _ smart _ thing to do, but clearly, I had no intentions of being smart that day. Bottom line, Goldies can and will take your stuff.”

George saw Fundy absentmindedly adjust the strap of his potions bag. 

It took them around forty minutes to get where they were headed: a little stable near the heart of the city that was glad to take their horses. As promised, they were registered under George’s name. Though, George didn’t miss the way the stablehand’s eyes widened at the sound of ‘Darkwood’. The kid thankfully didn’t say anything on the matter and focused on getting their steeds taken care of. He would have to talk to Fundy about possibly using  _ his _ name instead, if only to stop attracting attention. Low profile, right?

Once the horses were settled and their tack was locked away in the stable’s public storage rooms, the group finally arrived at their destination. The inn itself didn’t look too different from the rest of the buildings, George decided, but it definitely outshined the quaint Pella Inn back in Southern Northwick. A redstone lamp sign shouted,  _ ‘Toki Inn’ _ in bright bold letters above the double doors. 

The inside, to George’s surprise, didn’t really match the outside at all. Where the exterior was loud and glittery, the inside was simple. Homely. The floors were made of weathered oak, and coal-burning lanterns hung from the ceiling in such a way as to make them look like chandeliers. Dusty quilts and simple tapestries were mounted on the walls, as well as a few landscapes sketched on tanned parchment in charcoal. In a way, it  _ did  _ resemble Pella Inn.

But it only took George a few seconds to weed out the signs of Golestiera’s splendor. The floors, while they looked old and weathered, were well polished. Upon closer inspection, the ‘coal-burning’ lanterns were, of course, actually powered by redstone. A transparent pipe of water ran the perimeter of the room and poured out into a couple of small bubbling fountains fixed to the walls.

However, there was no denying the effort put into trying to make the lobby appear like a small town inn. George had almost been convinced.

Almost.

Talking with the woman at the front counter revealed that renting a handful of the smallest rooms rather than trying to get a six-person room - literally the most expensive option,  _ geez _ \- was in their funds’ best interest. Each room came with two twin-sized beds, an attached bathroom, and a sprinkling of furniture. There wouldn’t be much elbow room, but after four days of hard travel and three nights of sleeping on the ground, George was just happy to have a bed and running water.

Once that was all sorted and they had the passwords to their rooms, it came time to choose their roommates for their stay in Golestiera, and - 

“I’m not bunking with Fundy,” George announced right off the bat.

“What?” squawked the man in question, indignant. “Why not?”

“You snore.”

“I do not!”

“You do,” Bad confirmed with a solemn nod. “Hate to break it to you.”

“Sapnap should room with him,” provided Skeppy. “Dude sleeps like a rock.”

“Okay,  _ that’s _ true,” Sapnap agreed, “but I have never once in my life heard Fundy snore.”

“Which is  _ exactly _ the reason you’re rooming with him,” George told his friend, patting him on the shoulder in congratulations.

Sapnap scoffed. “I don’t know what y’all are going on about, but fine.” He threw an arm over Fundy’s shoulders and bowed him into a tight sideways embrace, forcing a surprised grunt out of the scholar. “Guess you’re stuck with me, buddy!”

Fundy rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath in Galactic; George felt as though didn’t need a translation to get the jist of what he’d said. 

“Well,  _ I’m  _ sticking with Bad,” Skeppy proclaimed to no one’s surprise, leaning onto his friend’s side. “Guess that just leaves George and Dream.”

George looked up at Dream and tilted his head to the side as he shrugged. “Guess we’re roommates.” 

“Never had an actual roommate before,” Dream replied, his signature lopsided smirk edging onto his lips. “Should be interesting.”

They hung out in the lobby and had a makeshift dinner consisting of whatever was left in their provisions, too tired to bother going out to purchase food for a proper meal. Once that was taken care of, they decided it was best to just head up to their rooms and get ready to turn in for the night. As they passed the front desk again, George noticed the lady at the counter giving them a funny look, sharp eyes tracing their movements.

It took George a second to realize that the lady was staring at Dream. 

George swiveled his head to look at the wanderer, trying to see what it was that had the lady so on edge, but he could see nothing wrong. Dream was just walking along with them, arms folded loosely across his chest. 

Then, one of Dream’s hands came up to fidget with his mask - something George had seen Dream doing  _ a lot _ of as they walked through Golestiera - while another appeared on his neck.

George didn’t get to spend much more time thinking about it, though, as they came to the redstone elevator in the back of the hall, and suddenly Sapnap was asking how the buttons worked, and Skeppy was rambling on about the technical jargon that George didn’t comprehend a word of, and Bad was trying to get the redstoner to slow down so they could actually try to understand what he was saying, and Fundy was rolling his eyes as he pressed the elevator call button himself; and then they were taking the clicking, clacking, whirring cart up to the fifth floor.

Dream stopped adjusting his mask once the doors were closed, and the hand that had slithered up to his neck dropped to his side again. 

While the lobby had tried and failed to make George feel at home, the room he and Dream were to share definitely landed closer to the mark. Just the fact that the ceiling was a bit too low was enough to give the quarters a sense of familiarity. Everything was a little more on the cramped side, with there being barely enough room for two beds, a couple nightstands and small dressers, a closet, and a bathroom. A worn out rug ran the length of the room between the two beds, and the place was illuminated with more redstone facsimiles of coal lanterns. Glowstone, which George discovered was warm to the touch, provided warmth for the quarters; a metal grate fashioned over it could cut off the heat as needed. Obvious Golestieran utilities aside, the place was cozy.

Dream claimed the bed against the right wall, tossing his bag at its foot. George took the left, and the two of them began the process of shucking off their travel gear, shaking out the dust and dirt, and putting it aside to be washed and tended to later.

George heaved a grateful sigh as he dropped onto the edge of the bed. Removing his boots and pressing his socked feet into the plush carpet was probably one of the best feelings in the world. 

Dream made a similar sound as he tossed himself onto his bed, boots and all, and pressed his face into a pillow. George chucked a bit at his melodrama and prompted, “Tired?”

Dream turned his head to the side so he could face George, and the archer was amused to see that the familiar pale grin was tilted off-kilter. “Yeah, but also: staying in an actual bed three times in one week? It’s practically Midwinter.”

George snorted and joked, “To be honest, I thought you’d pull out your sleeping bag and lay on the floor for the night.”

Dream’s mouth curled into a baffled grin. “Pfft, what? Why would I do that?”

“Well, I dunno, you seem like the kind of guy who’d be all like - ” he assumed a gruff voice - “‘Oh, I don’t sleep on beds, beds are for  _ wimps _ , I sleep on the  _ ground _ like a  _ real  _ survivalist.’”

Dream was chuckling his funny, wheezing laugh three words into George’s impression. “O-oh come on, I do  _ not _ sound like that!”

“Well, I had to listen to your jabbering - ”

“ _ Jabbering - ?! _ ”

“ - for this entire trip, so if I say you sound like that, you sound like that.”

“Well, at least my voice isn’t so high that I sound like a dog whistle when I laugh,” Dream retorted with a petulant tongue stuck out at him.

George genuinely scoffed at that. “Oh,  _ you’re _ one to talk,  _ tea kettle _ .”

And as if it were just to prove George’s point, Dream snorted and broke down into his iconic wheeze once again. The wanderer really  _ did _ have a contagious laugh, as odd as it was, and soon the two of them were breathless over a joke that really shouldn’t have been so funny. It was just that the moment they’d calm themselves and fall silent, Dream would quietly repeat something to himself like, “Beds are for wimps - ” in that stupid voice, and the two of them would tumble into giggles all over again.

“I-I’m crying, I -  _ snrk! _ \- I’ve got actual tears in my eyes,” George managed to choke out between chuckles several minutes later, wiping the wetness away with the sides of his hands.

Dream giggled. “N-no shit?”

“No shit.” George sighed, rubbing his face and shaking his head. “Gods, it’s not even that funny...”

Dream just laughed again. Having turned so he laid on his back at some point, he adjusted his tilted mask and let his hands drop onto his stomach. “The stupid jokes are always the best ones.”

“Apparently.” George leaned back on his hands for a moment as the two of them lapsed into light, companionable silence. Though, the stillness didn’t last long, as George’s eyes wandered and landed on the closed curtains hanging between the nightstands. Curious, he stood and padded over, pulling the drapes aside to peer out the window. “Oh, wow…”

George couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a town lit up at night, and being five stories up made the view all the more spectacular. While the stars were not visible amid the city’s glare, the countless lanterns hung around the streets created their own sort of starlight. The water flowing through the transparent pipes sparkled golden from the redstone lamps lined behind it, running through the body of Golestiera like gilded blood thrumming through crystal veins. The fountains and miniature man-made waterfalls were cast in lights of various colors. The whole rainbow had been fragmented and scattered across street corners and sidewalks and storefronts and restaurants. 

And flowing through the avenues with their own sort of pulse and energy were the citizens of the great city, the ‘Goldies’. It looked to be just as crowded as it had been when they first arrived. The din of voices tapped against the windowpane, just barely reaching all the way up to their room.

Dream appeared at George’s side, peeking over his shoulder to take in the view as well.

George looked back to him with an easy smile on his lips. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Sure is something,” Dream replied flatly, and he stepped away from the window to seat himself down on the edge of his bed once more.

George watched him with mild confusion. “What, not impressed?” he tried to joke, but something about the way Dream ducked his head made the attempt at humor fall flat.

“I dunno,” sighed Dream as a hand crept up to his neck. “Feels weird to stay in such a big city that has all their lights running at night. Golestiera is the only major location north of the Henzo that’s still active after sundown.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t stayed in Golestiera since the Aggression hit.”

“I’ve hardly stayed  _ anywhere _ .”

“Right…” George took one last look out the window. “It  _ is _ really pretty, though.”

Dream managed something like a smile. “It is.”

Not much more was said, and wordlessly, the two of them went about getting ready for bed. George went in to take a shower first which - okay, pressing his aching feet into the carpet had been amazing, but washing away the layers of grime that had accumulated over the past four days must’ve been about as close to heaven as a man could get. Not only that, but the water pressure in the shower wasn’t absolute shit like it was in his and Sapnap’s apartment. 

He took his time under the spray of the water, scrubbing away all the dirt and letting the heat loosen some of the tension in his muscles. He was sure to clean his injured hand thoroughly as well. Those potions Fundy had given him had definitely done their job, which he was infinitely grateful for. Though they were going to be resting for a while, George didn’t want to go around Golestiera with his stronger hand out of commission. Besides, they would be heading off to the Nether eventually. The sooner his hand was healed up, the better.

Upon exiting the shower a long while later ( _ The water didn’t peeter out after five minutes, what - ? _ ), he changed into his underclothes, towel dried his hair, and finished washing up. He looked himself over in the mirror and heeded the slight sunburn that reddened his face. He was lucky it wasn’t worse, actually. All that time spent under the shade of the Runica Forest had spared him from the worst of the sun’s blaze, and his coat didn’t have a hood.

All done with the bathroom for the moment, he swapped out with Dream and went to sit down on the side of his bed. He fished a roll of cheap bandages out of his bag and started to wind up his hand. He listened to the sound of Dream moving about the bathroom, shortly followed by the telltale sound of a showerhead sputtering out water. He didn’t take quite as long as George, but he wasn’t quick either. George finished wrapping his hand well before the water turned off despite the fact that wrapping one’s own hand was a lot more difficult than it sounded.

The archer laid back onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, not really thinking of much at all. He was content to let his thought drift about his head, disjointed and unconcerned. Though Golestiera was pretty unfamiliar to him, it felt good to be back in civilization once again.

George really did not understand how Dream did it - so many months with little to no human interaction? George would’ve gone mad by now, if not from loneliness, then from sheer boredom of having no one to talk to. Maybe  _ that _ was why Dream talked to himself so much. Must’ve been a force of habit by now.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the bathroom door creaking open. Dream came into the main room, wearing his long sleeve, tall neck undershirt and a pair of simple trousers. His mask was on, though George noticed his hand behind his head, fiddling with something. As Dream walked past him to sit on the edge of his bed, George saw that it was the scarf tied around his head that was giving him so much trouble.

“You need a hand with that?” George offered.

Dream’s lips pursed stubbornly as he fussed with the fabric, but after a few more seconds, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yeah,” he admitted. He stood up and turned around so George could walk over and take the ends of the scarf into his own hands. George noticed that he himself was having a harder time trying to tie the knot along the back of Dream’s head compared to the first time he’d done it. At some point during the past couple of days, the old, fraying fabric must’ve finally been torn up. It kept getting caught on the straps of Dream’s mask.

And speaking of the pale grin…

“You know,” George commented nonchalantly, careful in choosing his words, “I’ve always wondered why you bother with the scarf if you already have the mask.”

“Is that so,” Dream replied.

“Yeah.”

A long pause followed; George stopped tying the scarf. “So are you gonna tell me or…?”

“You never asked me a question.”

George snorted. “Okay then, smartass - ” he resumed his fiddling - “why do you have this scarf tied around your head if you’ve already got the mask?”

Dream adjusted the object in question before replying, “Some of the skin on my face is sensitive, and it’s gotten infected before. I do my best to keep it clean and covered up. I don’t think the mask is enough since I can still get dirt under it, so I use the scarf too.”

“Oh, so it’s an injury, then?”

“Y-yeah, it is.”

George caught the slight stutter in his voice but didn’t say anything, instead continuing, “Thought as much. So you have the scarf and the mask to cover it until it heals?” 

Dream winced sharply.

“Oh, shit, sorry, did I tie that too tight?”

“No, it’s fine, it’s uh…”

When Dream trailed off, George pulled his hands away from the scarf and stayed silent. Something had happened during that conversation that George didn’t fully understand, but whatever it was, it had the wanderer on edge. Dream messed with the scarf, adjusted the mask, and wrung a hand on the back of his neck, as if wicking away sweat. He tugged up the high-reaching, skin-tight collar like it had managed to roll down somehow. He inhaled deeply and exhaled as he adjusted his mask one more time, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

As the seconds ticked by and the wanderer continued to fidget, George became increasingly concerned. “Dream?” he prompted. “You good?”

Dream nodded jerkily in spite of himself. “Yeah, just...a lot on my mind, I guess. I’m okay.” He put his hand on his neck again and headed over to his bed, sitting down on the edge of his mattress with the weight of a man who carried far too much on his shoulders.

George sat himself on the edge of his own bed, facing the wanderer. They didn’t talk, Dream riding out whatever thoughts that were swirling through his head and George not entirely sure if breaking the careful silence between them would be welcome. Instead, he waited for Dream to say something,  _ if  _ he was going to say anything at all.

Minutes passed; he never did.

George decided to try something he hadn’t considered before. “...You know you can talk to me if you want to, right?”

Dream’s head perked up; the wanderer seemed to take a moment to process what George had said. Once or twice, his lips parted to say something, but they always snapped shut before a single word could escape his throat. Finally, he managed to say, almost in a whisper, “I’ll keep that in mind, George.”

George nodded. That was the best he was going to get for now, it would seem. He really hated to see Dream struggle under whatever burdens he bore, because they always seemed to catch him at every decision he made. They cut off his words, robbed him of his comfort, had him claw at the back of his neck every time someone got too close. It looked hellish to have to live with. 

But from where George stood with Dream at the moment, there wasn’t much he could do; and even if Dream wholly trusted him, he wasn’t sure if there would even  _ be _ more that George himself could accomplish. Whatever happened, though, George wanted to be there for Dream; he wanted to be Dream’s friend, if not because George liked the wanderer and his company, then because the wanderer looked to be in desperate need of a friend himself.

In the lengthy pause that followed, Dream lifted the covers and slid beneath the blankets, hiking them up to his chin. He faced the opposite wall and curled up like he usually did. “Good night,” George heard him mumble.

The archer exhaled softly. “Night, Dream.” He stood, turned off the lights, and drew the curtains closed, effectively dousing the room in darkness save for the faint strips of golden illumination from the glowstone peeking through its metal grates.

When George settled into his bed, he discovered that his pillow was positioned in just the right spot so he could peek through the gap between the drapes and the wall, similar to his bed back in Northwick. But unlike his bed in Northwick, he was not greeted by stars, just the bright-blazing walls of other buildings glaring at him from across the street, perfect and pristine.

He thought of those ashen walls of Fair Meadow, dead and rotting, the reek of deterioration stinging his nose and the hollow breeze shuddering through the gashes in the homes, the Golestieran crest slashed by vengeful hands.

George reached over to fix the curtain, tugging it closer to the window frame. Then, he rolled over and waited for sleep to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the time you're reading this, the next chapter should (hopefully) be uploaded. See you there! :D


	20. Sleep Tight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl, another reason I wanted to upload this chapter right away is because I'm bursting to get this part up for y'all to see :))))

George awoke to a shout.

He was up in an instant, gasping as he rose to sit in the oppressive darkness of the room. It took a few seconds for the rational side of his brain to process what exactly was going on. It was soldierly instinct alone that had torn him from sleep, and when he could see no immediate threat, he did a mental double take.  _ Wait, why did I - ? _

“No…!”

George whirled around. “Dream - !”

...From what he could see with nothing but the glowstone heater to help him, the wanderer was still in bed. But the sound of his trembling, rapids breathing was clear as day. It was the desperate gasp of a victim cornered and terrified for his life.

George didn’t waste time thinking it over. He just hopped out of bed and fumbled around in the darkness, fingers eventually finding the notch on the redstone lamp sitting on his bedside table. The resulting illumination revealed the state that the wanderer was in - curled up impossibly tight around himself, shoulders ducked in, shaking like a leaf caught in a storm.

“Dream?” George tried. 

The wanderer gave no reply. 

“ _ Dream _ .”

Still no answer other than a trembling cry.

It was then that George realized what was going on -  _ A nightmare. _

George came to the edge of Dream’s bed, not exactly certain of what to do. Sure, he’d helped Sapnap with his nightmares when they were kids, but by the time George got up, Sapnap would already be awake; and George couldn’t recall any of Sapnap’s nightmares being as  _ violent _ as this one, crying out in his sleep and struggling for air. George found himself in the very uncomfortable position of knowing he should do something, feeling as though he should know what to do, but not having a damn clue as to how to approach the situation at all.

Dream thrashed against his blankets. “No…!” he cried, gasping for air. “Drista...!”

_Fuck, I am completely out of my depth,_ George realized, panic starting to set in. He considered heading down the hall to go get Bad, but leaving Dream alone seemed like the opposite of what he should be doing. But how would _he_ know any better? He didn’t understand what the fuck was going on; he’d never had to deal with this before!

In the moment, George could only think of one thing he could do that could possibly make the situation marginally better: wake up Dream. 

_ How _ , exactly? Oh hell,  _ he _ didn’t know.

Without any other ideas to fall onto, George put a hand on Dream’s shoulder and called out to him - “Dream.” - and when the wanderer didn’t come around, he jostled him slightly. “Dream, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” 

The wanderer cried out again, shouting something broken and anguished. 

And George - the sound  _ scared  _ him. He shook Dream again, harder. “Come on, wake up,  _ wake up _ \- !”

A hand shot out grabbed George by the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward, and another hand pressed a dagger blade against the bare skin of his throat.

George’s heart skipped a beat. “Holy SHIT!”

  
“Wh - ?”

“Dream - !”

“What - ?”

“ - it’s me - !”

“ _ George _ ?”

“- let me go!”

The wanderer released George from the deathgrip on his shirt, and George lurched back, catching himself on the corner of the nightstand and hissing breathlessly, “What the fuck!”

Dream started from where he sat in the middle of the bed, open-mouthed, dagger still clutched in his grasp. “G-George - ”

“What the  _ fuck _ !” George repeated, panting, reeling. “ _ Dream _ !” His hand crept up to his throat where the cool blade of the dagger had been pressed against his jugular, felt his own pulse tudding through his veins. “A Gods damn knife, I should’ve - y-you  _ could’ve _ …! Are you  _ crazy _ ?!”

His words trailed into a quaking exhale of breath as instinct took over and he started to force out the initial rush of panic, grounding himself in the moment again when it became apparent that there was no immediate threat. He processed the sight of Dream sitting with the heels of his feet resting on the frame of the bed, back rigid as he stared up at George with his mouth parted in an attempt at speech. Then, Dream heaved a long, shuddering sigh of his own. He sniffed and wiped his cheek beneath his mask. His arms came to rest on his knees, and he hung his head. The dagger was held in his limp grasp.

“I-I think I am,” the wanderer whispered in reply, faint, defeated. “Gods, I think I am…”

At last, George’s brain caught up with his mouth and he realized what had just happened: Dream, who had been suffering from a violent nightmare, was awoken only to be shouted at by someone he was supposed to trust.

Well. Fuck. George was the biggest asshole on the planet. 

“I-I…” Gods, what did he say to fix this mess? “I...didn’t mean to say that - ”

“Then what  _ did _ you mean to say, George?” Dream demanded, though there was no real bite in his words.

“I meant...nothing. I meant nothing by it.” George hugged his arms around himself, shrugging lamely. “You just scared me is all. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Really?” muttered Dream, a hint of bitter amusement tainting his words. “‘Cause that’s the first worthwhile question you’ve asked all week.”

George’s shoulders slumped, chest aching. “Dream…”

The wanderer just shook his head and rubbed his face beneath his mask again.

Whatever words George had planned to say, whatever platitudes he was going to vocalize - they all died in his throat. He could do nothing but watch Dream as he ran a hand along his neck and trembled with the lingering terror of his nightmare, head lowered between his arms.

...George wasn’t really sure what compelled him to do so, but something told him to carefully take the dagger from Dream’s weakened grasp, set the weapon down on the nightstand, and gently seat himself on the edge of the bed beside the wanderer. For a long time, no words passed between them. The only thing George could hear was the sound of Dream swallowing back his breathless gasps.

When... _ everything _ about the situation seemed to have settled into an uneasy peace, George began, almost conversationally, “I heard you talking to Bad last night.”

It was just a handful of innocent little words, but it was as though George had just told Dream he was on death row. “Gods,” he groaned. “How much did you hear?”

“Um…” George didn’t know how to properly summarize what he’d heard that night, so he just fumbled out, “I heard...pretty much...all of it...”

Dream dragged his hands down the front of his mask, his fingernails digging into the white paint. “ _ Fuck _ .”

“I-I’m, uh, I’m sorry...?” George stammered, wondering if it had really been the best idea to share that little tidbit of information so soon. “I know I shouldn't have listened, but I couldn’t really help it because you guys were literally  _ right there _ within earshot, and I’m a light sleeper, and...” 

His rambling was getting them absolutely nowhere, judging by the way Dream had moved one of his hands from his mask to the back of his neck. While some of his neck was protected by that high-reaching undershirt, a couple of his nails still caught on the bare skin, grip unyielding.

George could tell that the strength of his grasp wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been during the incident at the river, but the sight still made his stomach turn. 

Carefully, George reached up with an open hand. He saw Dream lean away from him, so he paused, waiting for an indication that he could proceed. Dream didn’t say anything to communicate if he was fine with it, but he relaxed minutely and didn’t recoil again when George continued. The wanderer let George tenderly pull the hand away from his neck and settle it on the bedside, where it curled into the sheets instead.

“Is my knowing about your nightmares really so bad?” George tried instead. “I mean, it kinda helped now, didn’t it?”

(It didn’t, not  _ really _ , but George decided not to mention that part.) 

Dream blew out a frustrated breath between his lips. “I didn’t want…” He made a vague but collective gesture to his head. “... _ this _ to be an issue, or - or something you or Bad or  _ anyone _ had to know about. Shit, I thought this was gonna be  _ simple _ .”

“Simple?” George echoed, furrowing his eyes at the wanderer. “What’s supposed to be simple?”

“Slaying the Ender Dragon. I mean, I know  _ that’s _ not simple, but I mean, like - ” He flapped a hand, not sure how to explain himself - “traveling with you guys. Just, ‘join the group, kill the Dragon, move on with your life’ sounded a whole lot easier a few days ago.” He groaned again and tugged at his mask, almost as if he were annoyed. “I didn’t mean to break down in front of Bad last night, he just - just happened to be on watch and I had a nightmare and he pulled me out of it before it could get any worse and he started asking me if I was okay and - ”

Dream stopped short, voice cracking. He swallowed hard and sniffed, angrily wiping a stray tear from his cheek with the heel of his hand. “Damnit, I don’t know what it is about you guys, but you make me feel like a  _ person _ .” 

George stared, processing - he didn’t like the sound of that at all. “...What do you mean?” 

“I’m fucked up, George,” Dream chuckled bitterly, lips curled into a mirthless grin like it was the punchline of some shitty joke. “I’m fucked up, and I can hardly function as I am. I don’t like people, I talk to myself, I can barely sleep at night, I can’t do anything or go anywhere unarmed - I’m a Gods damn  _ mess _ . 

“And then I run into you and I meet your friends, and sure, I don’t always get along with all of you, but I don’t feel...I dunno, like a ghost or something. Like, I feel like I’m actually  _ here _ , and I  _ exist _ .” 

Dream released a shuddering breath, the hand on his mask sliding down to drop onto his knee. The tension wrought throughout his frame appeared to dissipate somewhat, and his breathing evened out. But his hand remained curled into the bedsheets. “Wish I could give you more of an explanation than that,” he mumbled, “but I’m afraid that if I keep running my mouth, I’m gonna end up saying something that I’ll regret.”

George...didn’t know what to say to that. To  _ any _ of that. It was surprising, almost  _ startling _ how raw and open Dream had been. He had expected to have to push a little more to get him talking, but after one little nudge,  _ everything _ came tumbling out in a sputtering tangle of words. Or, maybe not ‘everything’. There was something that Dream was still reluctant to voice, but for George, that was fine.

And he decided to say as much: “If you don’t want to explain, then you don’t have to explain. I get it.”

Dream’s head twitched towards him. “You...do?”

“Yeah.” George shrugged, folding his arms. “S’not like I can force you or anything.”

The wanderer took another fortifying breath, and as he exhaled, he shifted his elbows up to brace on his knees, one hand lightly curling around the side of his neck while the other supported his head by his cheek. He sniffed once more, rubbing an eye beneath his mask with his fingers. He seemed exhausted, and in an odd way, disappointed. Regretful.

George recalled the way Dream avoided Bad’s gaze at breakfast.

_ Oh. _

“Hey,” George beckoned delicately, ducking his head to better look into the dark eyes of the pale grin. When he was certain Dream was watching, George told him, “Thanks for trusting me.” 

Dream offered nothing but a small nod in reply. 

Another quiet moment stretched between them, disturbed by only the sound of Dream’s settling breaths and the occasional distant clank of a redstone machine somewhere in the building or down on the street. Sometimes, George could’ve sworn he heard Dream mutter something, but whatever it was, it was far too hushed for George to hear. Maybe it hadn’t been meant for his ears, maybe it had. Regardless, those words were lost to the stillness of the night. All George could do was sit there and let the minutes tick by.

...Or maybe not.

An idea came to him. “Do you think you’re going to be able to fall asleep anytime soon?”

Dream shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep even if I tried. I rarely ever do after... _ that _ .”

“Perfect. Me neither.” George stood up and crossed over to his own bed, gathering the pillows into his arms.

“...What are you doing?” Dream asked slowly, puzzlement evident in his tone.

George brought the pillows over and dumped them onto Dream’s bed. “Making a couch.”

“Uh, what?”

“I’ll explain,” said George as he started to mess with Dream’s pillows as well, “but you have to promise not to tell Sapnap I’m telling you about this. He  _ still _ gets all embarrassed about it.” 

  
“O-Okay? I promise not to tell.”

“Great. So, basically, Sapnap used to get a lot of nightmares when we were younger. It was usually about the drowned in the river in Northern Northwick, but there were other things too - like, public embarrassment nightmares. I’m not gonna repeat them out of respect, but I’m not gonna lie - ” he chuckled to himself - “some of them are just a  _ little _ funny.”

George observed what he had to work with and decided to bring all the cushions to the headboard. “Anyway, whenever he woke up from a nightmare, I was always the one to be woken up by his crying, and I didn’t want to just leave him alone. So, he and I would sneak down to the livingroom and hangout on the couch. Sometimes we talked or played card games, or sometimes we just hung out. Eventually, sitting on the couch became the go-to remedy for sleepless nights in general. He and I still do it now in our apartment back in Northwick.”

George stopped arranging the pillows to show Dream his handiwork. He’d created a little wall of pillows against the headboard to act like the back cushions on a sofa. Then, he hopped onto Dream’s bed and scooted over to the side, patting the available space next to him. “Come on, sit on the couch with me.”

Dream stared at the pillows for a second, clearly still confused. Then, he shook his head, wiped the last of his tears away, and shifted over to sit beside George. There wasn’t too much horizontal space on the bed, so they ended up with their shoulders pressed together as Dream finally settled into place.

Once both of them were seated, Dream asked, “So, now what?”

“We just…” George shrugged. “Hang out. Or we could talk, if you want.”

Dream winced, rubbing his neck. “I-I don’t think I want to talk about all that - ”

“No no, I mean about something else. Anything else, really. I mean, if you  _ do  _ want to talk about it, then I’m not gonna stop you, but we don’t even have to bring it up if you don’t want to. We’re just here to pass the time.”

“Pass the time until what?”

“Until we feel like we can fall asleep again. Or until morning.”

Dream’s head tilted up to look at the redstone clock hanging on the wall. “George, it’s...two AM.”

“And?”

Dream opened his mouth to reply, but he promptly closed it. Instead, he continued to stare straight ahead at the opposite wall.

George’s eyes reverted to the wall as well. He would be lying if he didn’t find the silence a little awkward. With Sapnap, it was always easy, just existing with each other. Then again, he had known Sapnap for years, and he had known Dream for all of, what, five days? Six? No wonder things felt a little off. A conversation about  _ something  _ was definitely in order. He just didn’t know what.

A couple minutes of thinking later, and George got an idea. “Have you ever been to the Gorin Wastes?”

“Hm?” said Dream, turning his head to look at George. “Oh, well, I’ve been to the towns along the outskirts, but I haven’t ever  been _in_ the Wastes.” He stopped short, considering the question again, and corrected, “Okay, well, that’s not  _ entirely _ true…”

And Dream launched them into a tale about the time he had been commissioned to look for and record the features of a fabled altar from an old civilization said to be a few kilometers into the outskirts of the Gorin Wastes. He started slow, giving a little background as to what he was doing so deep in Southern Othana to begin with (something about helping someone he called ‘Fruit’ with an ‘errand’, whatever that meant), but as his story went on, his voice grew lighter and his descriptions more detailed; and by the time he had reached the climax of his tale, he was in full-on storytelling mode. Words flew from his mouth at rapid speeds as he regaled his encounter with a horde of husks, grinning as he took pride in his wit when he used the explosion of a creeper to unsettle some softer sands, trapping the husks in an unseen pit below. He never did find the altar, but an old dungeon protruding from the dunes meant that he didn’t return empty-handed.

The end of that story easily fed into the beginning of another one, and when George asked for more details, Dream was glad to oblige. Though it was true that George had posed that first question just to get Dream talking about something he enjoyed, George had to admit, Dream was a  _ really _ good storyteller. Granted, he was a bit difficult to follow at times. He’d occasionally speak so fast that his brain couldn’t catch up with his mouth, and he’d lose his place mid sentence. Or, he would get distracted by a side tangent, having to put a pause on the main story in order to tell the smaller story that explained some other little detail. 

Regardless, George quickly found himself enthralled, mind spinning with images of rotting temples and lush jungles and scattered islands and cascading cliff sides and abandoned monuments deep in the wilds.

George wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but somehow, the discussion turned to him, and he found himself telling stories of his childhood in Northwick. Many of them were of Sapnap and Fundy, who he had known for ages longer than Bad and Skeppy. He even shared a few stories of his mother, some of the lighter memories he had of her. Dream listened at full attention, drinking in the details while occasionally asking a question or making a small quip that had both of them laughing - Dream more so than George, who found it infinitely hilarious that Dream laughed so wholeheartedly at his own jokes...which would just make George laugh harder, and then  _ Dream _ would laugh harder, and the effect would snowball until they were breathlessly giggling at nothing.

A good deal of time later - must’ve been at least an hour, though neither could say for certain and the clock on the wall didn’t mean a damn thing to them anymore - George found himself resting his head on Dream’s shoulder. Why? George didn’t know. He could try to explain it, claiming fatigue or sleepiness (which was true, because he did feel rather tired), but something about it just felt right. But then Dream was faltering mid sentence, and he soon stopped all together. 

George wondered if he had crossed a line and was about to retreat when a weight settled on the top of his head. Dream had rested his cheek in George’s hair.

“Shit, I lost my place again,” said the wanderer, frustrated. “Where was I?”

George wracked his brain and finally replied, “You were telling me what the Foggen Swamplands are like.”

“Oh.” Dream shuddered dramatically. “ _ Wet _ .”

George snorted, and the wanderer plunged back into his story.

When it became apparent to George that Dream had no shortage of stories and he himself had no shortage of curiosity, he  _ really _ settled in, ready to spend the rest of the night sitting on their little makeshift couch. By no means did he have any interest in returning to his bed. Who could sleep when there was someone right beside you weaving tales of magic and danger from years past? Who could sleep when there were memories of childhood to be shared in the golden light of bittersweet nostalgia? Who could sleep where there were jokes to be told and laughed at regardless of their lack of wit? Who could sleep when there were stars to be mapped out on the ceiling overhead by the guidance of a weathered wanderer?

Time became meaningless, the tick of the clock as inconsequential as the rain that taps against the window during a summer’s storm. All that mattered to them were the stories, the laughter, the conversations.

They talked.

And talked.

...And talked.

...And...talked.

...And...talked…

...And…

…

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“ - I’ll check on ‘em Bad, I got it.”

The sound of a voice drifted across his consciousness, though his mind was too far gone to put a name or face to it. Muffled footsteps came from somewhere beyond the little bubble of warmth he found himself floating in.

_ ‘Knock knock.’ _ “George? Dream? You up?”  _ ‘Knock knock knock.’ _ “Helloooo…?”

This was followed by a few beeps, a buzz, and the click of a redstone lock deactivating. Hinges squealed. Clearer footsteps sounded from... _ somewhere _ , though they steadily grew louder until they came to an abrupt halt not too far away.

Some distant part of him wanted the source of the sound to leave him be.  _ I’m warm, and I’m tired. Let me stay here a little while longer. _

Had he spoken it aloud? Maybe he had, maybe he hadn’t. But something must have heard his plea, because no more sharp sounds came. There was the soft click, and though he couldn’t say for certain what it was that happened, some of the brightness of his surroundings vanished. Then, footsteps - much gentler this time - retreated. Hinges squealed. A lock reactivated.

“...Yeah, they’re still asleep, man.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh. Still kinda early, I guess, so I’m not  _ that  _ surprised…”

The voices receded.

He drifted away again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Consciousness came back to George in a trickle, like a leaky faucet left dripping through the night. He drew in a breath that he could feel filling his chest, released it in a sigh, and pried his eyes open.

The ceiling came into view, vision spotty and hazy until he adjusted to the lack of light. Not fully awake just yet, he ran a hand down his face in an attempt to rub the sleep from his eyes. He rolled over onto his side and - 

It was then that George realized that he wasn’t in his own bed. Laying beside him was none other than Dream. He was still fast asleep, laid flat on his stomach as his arms hugged the cushion beneath his head. His face pressed into the pillow so just the corner of the pale grin peeked out from between the fabric and the fluff of his mussed hair. He remained absolutely still, back rising and falling in a slow, steady pattern with every breath.

There were a solid five seconds where George’s mind was ablaze with questions, though all confusion was quickly smothered when he recalled the events of the previous night: the nightmare, the shouting, the apologies, the confessions, the stories - talking and talking for hours upon hours. The last clear thing he could remember was a handful of names Dream had told him: Illumina - or ‘Lumi’ - Fruit, and Benex. All were travelers like Dream, and the wanderer hadn’t seen them since before the Aggression. He’d been talking about how worried he was that they’d been killed by endermen during their travels, and how he was so sure he would have run into at least one of them by now, and…

Well, that’s where George’s memory cut short. He must have fallen asleep shortly after that. 

George sat up and looked to the clock hanging on the opposite wall, only to find that it was nearly ten in the morning.  _ Ten in the morning. _ He could scarcely remember the last time he had slept so late. He rarely ever stayed in bed past seven during  _ regular _ times, thanks to being out on the first shift of day patrol most mornings.

Dream shuffled in his sleep, mask riding up on his face so it was pushed a little higher on his cheeks. George couldn’t deny the spark of curiosity he felt at the opportunity to see more of the wanderer’s facial features, but he quickly banished the thought and looked elsewhere. 

...But that didn’t stop him from wondering, mulling over what Dream had told him about his face the previous night.

If his suspicions proved to be right, then that injury Dream claimed to have could very well be the dreaded Ender’s Brand. It made perfect sense to George. It lined up with everything Wilbur had told them while at Juno Settlement - the mayor must have caught sight of it when Dream’s mask fell off during his fight with Tommy. And not only that, but it would easily explain his reluctance to show his face: it was tied to the reluctance he had with telling them what exactly the Brand was. 

So what  _ was _ the Brand? Dream described it as an ‘injury’, and Fundy called it a ‘natural process’. Other than that, George knew next to nothing. The wanderer had gone to great lengths to keep their knowledge on the Brand to a minimum and to keep the group from seeing his face. It must have been a grizzly sight, whatever it was, to try to stop them from even so much as imagining it.

( _ Maybe it’s not a matter of ‘what’, but of ‘how’ and ‘why’... _ whispered a voice in the back of his head; he dismissed the precarious thought for now.)

George wasn’t squeamish. He’d seen and received countless nasty injuries during his time in the Guard and in competition. Whatever it was that Dream suffered from, it wouldn’t deter George. But Dream himself was still skittish. He seemed like the kind of man to be self-conscious of his appearance, and the last thing George wanted to do was force him into a compromising position. He knew how uncomfortable  _ that  _ could be.

George put two fingers on the top edge of the mask and  _ geeeently _ pushed the pale grin down half an inch. He knew he was successful when Dream barely gave a twitch at the movement. Then, he shifted over to the foot of the bed and clambered over Dream’s lanky legs to set himself down on the other side. He glanced back to see that Dream was still utterly dead to the world.

A soft knocking at the door caught his attention. Stifling a yawn behind his fist, he went to answer it, and he found Sapnap and Skeppy standing on the other side, various clothing items folded up in their arms. He immediately recognized his own coat and the patchwork mess that was Dream’s scarf.

“Oh, look who’s finally up,” Spanap teased lightly. “S’not very soldier-like of you to sleep past six, George, for shame. What would Techno think?”

“Well, Techno’s not here, so I hardly think it matters,” George murmured with a scoff. “Also, keep your voices down. Dream’s still asleep. And  _ also  _ also - ” he pointed at the bundles in their arms - “is that our clothes?”

“Yup,” said Skeppy in a voice that sounded like he was trying to whisper but was  _ really _ failing at it. “We took our own stuff down to a washing service a couple hours ago, so we grabbed your stuff too.”

George raised an impressed eyebrow. “ _ Just _ a couple hours ago?”

“Uh-huh. A lot of stuff is automated by redstone, but - ” Skeppy giggled to himself - “I gotta admit, everything’s a lot faster than I remember. Those updates Mega’s been giving me don’t do the RD justice at  _ all _ .”

“You guys haven’t already gone to meet up with Mega, have you?” said George, taking his bundle of neatly folded gear from Sapnap.

“No,” Skeppy pouted, kicking at the polished hardwood beneath his feet.

“Bad’s been waiting for you guys to wake up,” Sapnap elaborated. “He wants all of us to go together.”

“Well,” said George, balancing the other bundle of clothing on top of the first with Skeppy’s help, “I’ll head in and get ready, and if Dream isn’t up soon, I’ll wake him. Let Bad know, will you?”

“You got it, man.”

George nodded his thanks to both of them, bid them goodbye, and headed back into the room, closing the door behind him with his foot. He proceeded into the main room while being extra careful to walk slowly and not disrupt the perilously balanced bundles in his arms. He came to the dresser at the foot of his own bed and plopped the pile of clothes on top. He pulled Dream’s things from his own, trying to keep everything neat and folded. Then, he got to work sorting his sparse clothes into drawers, and he hung up his coat in the shallow closet. Once that was done, he considered Dream’s clothes and began to sort them into the drawers of the dresser at the foot of Dream’s bed.

Eventually, he was left with Dream’s patchwork scarf. Something about it gave him pause, stopping him from placing it into the drawer among the rest of Dream’s clothing. George had touched the scarf before on a couple of occasions, but that was when it was covered in grime and dust from the wanderer’s travels. Freshly washed, the patchwork scarf was unbelievably soft between his fingers. He could feel the differences between the patches of fabric. George had always thought that the patchy look of the garment was intentional, but now he could tell that the patches had been added after the scarf’s original creation. No two patches were exactly the same, each a slightly different shade, texture, or size from the others. 

If Dream had been repairing the scarf since he got it, then he’d clearly used whatever he’d had on hand. Hell, George recognized some of the patches as the same material as Dream’s evergreen coat. George never even noticed the coat was missing pieces. He just assumed all the frayed and tattered ends were just some of the usual signs of wear and tear that appeared to be the staple of Dream’s belongings.

_ Well, you learn something new every day, I guess, _ George thought to himself, folding the scarf up again to place with the rest of the items.

Something caught his eye, causing him to stop once more. 

Embroidered along the edge in the middlemost section of the scarf, there was a short message.

_ May you stay warm and light. With love, Mom, Dad, and Drista. _

The message was followed by two carefully stitched hearts and a slightly lopsided smiley face with a grin that was wide enough to border on unnerving.

‘Drista’... Where had he heard that name before - ?

( _ “No…! Drista...!” _ )

_ Last night. I heard it last night. _

Something clicked.

...It made sense.  _ Everything _ made sense. Dream’s fear, and his jumpiness; Dream’s hatred for endermen, and his nightmares and anxiety; Dream’s quietness concerning his past and family, and his refusal to step foot in an Aggression-razed village…

His burning desire to see the Ender Dragon dead.

_ Oh... _

George tore his eyes away from the scarf to look at the wanderer himself. He was still laid out on his stomach, pillow hugged beneath his head as he peacefully dozed the morning away. George looked back to the well-loved scarf, softened by use, preserved at every cost.

...He thought of the devastation of Fair Meadow and the other ruined villages out there, the families murdered and the homes lost to the flames. 

He imagined running through that inferno, desperately scouring the hellscape as the vengeance of an ancient evil devoured the remaining life in its jaws; he imagined crying their names into the chaos in the vain hope that they might hear him over the roar of destruction.

He considered the possibility of never finding them, narrowly escaping with his own life.

He pictured himself broken, mourning, and utterly alone, falling back onto the one thing he knew how to do... 

Wander.

_...Oh. Oh, no... _

George took a fortifying breath a moment later and released it as he neatly folded the scarf to place it gently atop the rest of Dream’s clothes. Then, he closed the drawer with a quiet thump and braced his hands on the edge of the dresser.

_...Fucking hell. _

How had he not connected the dots before? Looking back, it was  _ so _ obvious. Dream had even  _ said _ that he had been on the road for ‘six months, going on seven,’ which - according to basic math - put the start of his directionless wandering at around the same time the Aggression sprang up. 

Gods, George liked to think he was a little smarter than  _ that _ . Had the others pieced it together as well? He’d overheard Bad say that he had his ‘suspicions’ about Dream and why he got his nightmares, but had the captain come to the same conclusions as him? And was George  _ right _ in this assessment? All signs pointed to yes, but maybe there was a piece to the puzzle that he was missing. 

But assuming he was right about Dream’s past and why he was the way he was, well...what did George do now? There was no way he could tell Dream that he’d figured it out without sending the man into a panic, losing his trust, or both. And George did not want to lose Dream, not now. The wanderer was a one-in-a-million friend, someone he understood on a fundamental level regardless of the fact that they had only known each other for less than a week. George would sooner shoot himself in the foot than lose that sort of connection.

George drummed his fingers on the dresser once, twice, three times. He really shouldn’t be privy to this information. Dream had done so much to keep this under wraps. If overhearing Dream’s conversation with Bad hadn’t felt invasive, then  _ this _ certainly did. He couldn’t tell a soul what he knew, or else Dream would - 

“George?”

He just barely stopped himself from jumping two feet in the air at the sound of the wanderer’s voice, but he didn’t quite catch that flinch. Hoping to play it off, he flattened his shirt and turned around. Dream sat upright in the bed, giving him a funny look through his off-kilter mask.

“Are...you alright?” Dream continued when George didn’t manage a reply in time. “You look, uh...tense.”

“I’m not,” George objected reflexively, then added half a beat later, “I’m just thinking.”

Dream didn’t seem wholly convinced, but he scoffed and replied, “Well, don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’ll try not to,” George monotoned with mock offense.

Dream chuckled and slid out of bed. He reached up and moved to stretch with his hands high above his head like he did every morning, but he stopped short about halfway up with a soft cry, and he dropped his arms. “ _ Fuck _ , not again...”

“You okay?” asked George, stepping away from the dresser. 

“Mh, yeah,” Dream grunted, putting a hand on his injured shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It acts up the morning after... _ that _ , sometimes.”

_ Is that when he hurt his shoulder too...? _

George pushed the thought aside. “Do you need me to tie the scarf around it?”

“I’m going to change first, but I might need your help after.” He looked over to the foot of his bed. “Uh. Where are my clothes?”

“Oh.” George pulled open the drawer he just finished organizing. “Sapnap and Skeppy brought them up a few minutes ago. Apparently the others took them to a cleaning service a couple hours ago, when we were asleep.”

“A couple hours ago?” Dream echoed.

“Yeah, just a couple hours. I know I haven’t been to Golestiera in over a year, but the cleaning services weren’t nearly so efficient last time. They really move fast here in Zero Town.”

“No, I get that,” Dream answered dismissively, gaze trained at the clock on the wall, “I’m just wondering how the hell I slept past  _ ten in the Gods damn morning _ .”

George snorted. “I take it you’re not a late sleeper,” he remarked as Dream approached the open drawer.

“Absolutely not.” He pulled out a fresh undershirt and trousers. “I worked that out of my system years ago.”

“When you started traveling full time, I assume?”

“Yeah. I have too much ground to cover in a day to sleep past seven.” He folded his clothes over his arm - “Be right back.” - and went to change in the bathroom.

George took the opportunity to change into some day clothes as well, relishing the feeling of clean clothes rather than his travel-stained gear. He looked in a mirror on the wall to fix his sleep-tousled hair and was just wrapping his crimson scarf around his neck when Dream emerged from the bathroom, ready for the day. Since they wouldn’t be donning any armor, Dream had also put on a simple, steel blue tunic over his usual long-sleeve, high-neck undershirt. The tunic was all rumpled from being rolled up for so long; George guessed he didn’t wear it too often.

Dream pulled the drawer open and took out his patchwork scarf, holding it out to George expectantly. George, after half a second, found he was hesitating. Mentally shoving himself, he stepped up to take the scarf from Dream’s waiting hand. He knew the routine by now, so when Dream turned around, George slung one end of the scarf over his shoulder, pulled it back under his armpit, and began the process of wrapping the wanderer’s injury. He moved slower than usual, pulling with a little more care. When it came time to tie the final knot, his eyes fell upon that little embroidered message.

_ May you stay warm and light. With love, Mom, Dad, and Drista. _

George’s hand came to tug at his own crimson scarf, remembering the oaken eyes, the raven hair, the gentle hands on his own showing him how to hold a bow; the funeral, the heartache, the weeks spent desperately wishing that it was all just some drawn-out nightmare; the bitter acceptance, the drive to do right by her, the longing to make her proud. 

He wouldn’t wish any of it on anyone.

“...George?” Dream asked, pulling the archer from his thoughts. “You done?”

“Uh - ” he swiftly finished the loose knot - “I am now.” Dream nooded, experimentally rolling his shoulder and adjusting the scarf so the fabric didn’t bunch too much. 

When he turned around to face George, he wore a tight-lipped frown. “...You’re acting off.”

“I’m not - ”

“You  _ are _ .” He growled, pacing to the side of the room with a throw of one hand while the other crept up to his neck. “I  _ knew _ it, I  _ knew _ telling you would make it weird.”

“Dream - ”

“Damnit, can’t I have anything normal - ?”

“ _ Dream -  _ ”

“ _ What _ ?” the wanderer snapped, whirling around.

George snapped his mouth shut.

Dream froze, recoiled. “Sorry, I’m…” The hand on the back of his neck twitched, tensed, curled into his hair.

George took a careful step forward. “Are you okay?”

Dream didn’t respond right away, seemingly processing the question, but when he did answer, it was with a bitter chuckle. “That’s a bit of a loaded question, George.” He ducked his head slightly. “But, to put it simply...no. I’m not. Thought last night would’ve been example enough, but…” The thought trailed off, with nowhere else to go and nothing else to say. Dream continued to rub the back of his neck, anxiety beginning to settle in.

And George couldn’t just stand there. “Can I give you a hug?”

Dream’s head snapped up. “Wh-what?”

“Can I give you a hug?” George repeated.

“You’re...asking me?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“Yes. Can I give you a hug?”

“I…” Dream was at a loss for words. “Uh, y-yeah, I don’t see why not - ”

George closed the distance between them in a blink of an eye and pulled Dream into the tightest embrace he could manage without aggravating Dream’s shoulder or inhibiting his breathing. Dream stumbled backwards at the impact with a sharp gasp, arms held out to the sides like he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with them. Half a mumbled sentence tumbled out of his lips, but it carried little meaning.

...And then Dream  _ melted _ . His shoulders went utterly slack as he dropped his forehead onto George’s own shoulders, arms finally coming up to return the embrace. George could feel the wanderer shaking oh so slightly, though the reason for the tremors was lost on him. It could have been a multitude of things, but he was content to just hold Dream steady. He let years’ worth of comforting and friendly hugs seep into his embrace, glad to finally be able to pay it forward to someone who clearly needed it now as much as George himself had needed it back then.

They stood there for a quiet moment. Much like it had during the previous night, the passage of time became insignificant. When George was certain Dream could stand on his own without tumbling forward, George gently pulled away. The wanderer let him go; his arms hung heavy at his sides.

George crossed his arms loosely. “Dream,” he began in a careful tone, “you told me last night that you’re ‘fucked up’, and you haven’t felt like a person in a long time.” The wanderer winced at the reminder but didn’t provide further explanation as to why; George continued, “I’m gonna let you in on a secret...”

The archer leaned in a little, as if to keep the nonexistent eavesdroppers from overhearing. “The others and I?” He tugged at his crimson scarf. “We’re  _ all  _ kinda fucked up - and I’m not here to say that any of us are worse off or better off than you because it’s by no means a competition. I’m just trying to say that my knowing doesn’t ‘make it weird’ like you think it will. Like, take Bad for example. We don’t really talk about it, but he’s…” George tilted his hand side to side in a so-so gesture. “He’s  _ kinda  _ a wreck. But he’s still our captain, and he's still our friend. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Normal is overrated, anyway,” George decided with an air of disinterest and a small roll of his eyes. “You  _ are _ the one who told me that being weird is better than being boring.”

Dream huffed a laugh, uncomfortable. “I-I don’t think ‘weird’ is really the word that applies here.”

“It falls under the same umbrella,” George replied, waving a hand; the motion pulled a slightly more genuine chuckle out of the wanderer. 

But George turned serious again, just for a moment. “You get my point though, right?”

Dream nodded, slow and considerate. “Yeah, I...I do.”

“Uh, good, good,” George concluded, releasing his grip on his crimson scarf. “Glad we’ve made that clear.”

Dream fidgeted with his mask. “You’re not gonna tell anyone about all... _ that _ , right?”

_ Could I?... Should I?... _

“Of course not,” answered George. “It’s not my place to tell.”

The wanderer blew out a small pent-up breath. “Thanks, George.”

  
“Yeah...” George nodded, grinning lightly; he felt something within him brighten with hope when he saw that the smile was returned - still a little shaky and uncertain, but it was there nonetheless. 

“...Yeah, anytime, Dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream finally gets a hug from George pog.
> 
> Also I drew something again and no I Do Not know how to draw but I had a mental image and I saw a pose reference on pinterest and I was like fuck it angst. Since I (still) don't have much in terms of social media and HTML formatting makes my brain hurt, Jem has graciously offered a place on her Tumblr (again). Here is a link to the post:
> 
> https://jemthebookworm.tumblr.com/post/644243255100407808/the-end-of-the-beginning-chapter-1-becauseplot
> 
> Anyway, yeah! Once more, thank you all for being so kind and supportive. Really means the world to me <3 Hope y'all stick around, because things are about to get - as Bad puts it - 'messy and complicated'. 
> 
> See you in two weeks (March 12th), and I hope you have a lovely day/night! :D


End file.
